Jeffrey's Leap
by Jake Crepeau
Summary: Sequel to "In All but Name and Blood." When Bogg and Jeffrey return to VHQ, staffers challenge the young Voyagers to a solo assignment.
1. Prologue

The Leapgate Chronicles **#**2:

_Voyagers!__**/**__Quantum Leap:_

Jeffrey's Leap

by

Jake Crepeau

Prologue

_**Voyager Headquarters, a week prior to Bogg's trial:**_

Fourteen-year-old Ray Swirski had been counting the days until he completed his rotation through the Legal Department since the day he'd started working there; now, as he looked through the virtual card file to locate a reference for Voyager Jim Billings, he was counting the minutes—ninety to go—until he could kiss the department goodbye. The work held absolutely no interest for him, and the Code Violations Prosecutor gave him the creeps.

None of the lawyers or paralegals seemed to like him much either, though there were some who shared his opinion on things. Fortunately for Ray and his fellow pages, the Voyager didn't have much use for them; in fact, he didn't seem to have much use for anybody below his "exalted" station. He even referred to the field workers, the very core of the Voyagers' function, in a tone of voice that made them sound like something to be wiped off his shoe after a walk in a pasture—as if he'd be caught dead in such a place.

So why was he looking through the page files now, Ray wondered when he spotted the name on the file the prosecutor was currently perusing in the archives, and those on the other files scattered on the table where he was working. Like most of those from pre-computer time zones, Drake didn't like to work with computers, though Ray was certain he'd been trained in their use; everybody else was. While most others called on the secretaries, the paralegals, or even a computer-literate page when such work was required, Drake avoided electronics altogether, preferring to work with hardcopy.

The man had no situational awareness, Ray smirked to himself as he continued on his errand. He'd been standing behind the jerk, looking over his shoulder, for a full thirty seconds, more than enough time for anyone else to realize he was being watched, but Drake had never even paused in his work. There was a persistent rumor that the man had cheated his way through Voyager school; it had probably been the only way he'd been able to make it through the practical training. How had he survived his final exam, Ray wondered, that first assignment into which a student Voyager was thrown to sink or swim? It wasn't as if one could cheat in the field, but somehow, the rumors said, he had managed it.

He shrugged off the thoughts as he continued on his way. It didn't do to ponder Voyager Drake's activities too closely, or you'd start living with one eye over your shoulder, wondering who he'd go after once he ran out of field workers to prosecute. He'd already had thirty of them banished; Professor Parker was even holding the wagers in a pool on who was going to be next.

Not long after Ray returned to the Legal Department, Drake came into the pages' area and scanned the suddenly nervous occupants. "Come with me, Mr. Swirski," he said, his voice as oily as ever. "I have need of your…special talents."

The color drained from Ray's face. Back home, in the early twenty-first century, his "hobby," though illegal, had provided a valuable service, so instead of being prosecuted, he'd been paid for it by the businesses for whom he'd done it. When he'd first come here a year ago, however, he'd been warned in no uncertain terms that it would not be tolerated, and threatened with severe penalties if he were caught engaging in it. That Drake had called on him right after looking through page records boded ill. What could he possibly want with a hacker?

The answer wasn't long in coming. Drake led the apprehensive boy to his office and shut the door, then invited him to have a seat as he settled behind his desk. "I understand you've been assigned to TE for the next few weeks."

"Yes, sir," Ray answered cautiously. He'd already listed Temporal Engineering as his first choice of career track, so Drake had to know of his interest in that field, but you didn't show any kind of major enthusiasm about your dreams to people like him, not if you didn't want your plans short-circuited.

"Good; there's something you can do for me while you're there." He handed Ray a slip of paper with a file location on it. "I need you to delete this file."

At the sight of the drive designator, Ray blanched. "How'd you get this path? The TE computers are a completely separate network!"

"That's none of your affair, though I'm surprised that Crash Override needs to ask that question."

He actually flinched at the mention of the handle he had once used, adopted from the 1995 movie _Hackers,_ but then his features grew hard. "Crash Override is dead," he said stonily.

"Is he?" Drake asked. "What do you suppose the Council would have to say about this?" He handed Ray a stack of photos.

The young teen flipped through them, then dropped them on the desk dismissively. "They already know about it; that's why I left Crash behind in that rubble I got yanked out of."

Picking them up, Drake handed them to Ray once more. "Look again. Carefully."

The pictures showed him working on a computer, the angle carefully crafted so that both the monitor screen and his face were clearly visible. His features in the photo were set in determined concentration; the screen showed indisputable evidence of hacking activity to anyone who knew what he was looking at. The operating system used at VHQ differed little from the various versions of Windows that had been around in the early twenty-first century; there were subtle differences, however, and Ray's stomach tied itself into knots as he recognized those points. "This is baloney!" he protested. "These have to be manips; I don't do this stuff anymore!"

"Prove it, then," Drake said smugly.

Ray snorted bitterly, but said nothing.

"You can't, can you? Of course not; it's impossible to prove a negative."

Ray shot to his feet. "First of all, even when I was hacking, it was all strictly white-hat.1 And second, if you can get file paths you shouldn't have and do Photoshopping like this, you don't need me to delete the file; you can do it yourself." He turned toward the door, fully intending to head straight to the Council.

"Sit down," Drake snarled. "You're not thinking this through. Do you really want to go up against me before the Council, when my conviction rate is a hundred percent?"

Ray had heard the shocked murmurs after each trial as people found it difficult to believe that any of the defendants would stoop to the things of which they'd been accused. Some of them had even been the recipients of honors in Voyager school. If Drake could succeed in winning cases against people like that, what chance did a page with a checkered past have?

What fools his fellow Voyagers, Drake thought, barely concealing his smug satisfaction as he stood at the reception window in TE, watching Ray at the computer on the other side. The case against his next victim was complete. One particular Voyager, above all others, must not be allowed to continue, for that one was destined to be his downfall. He could not rightly prosecute him directly, however, since he wasn't yet officially a Voyager. No; the way to get him out of the way was to strike at his self-appointed teacher and guardian, and doing so would give him the utmost pleasure. By all indications, the removal of the boy would utterly destroy his rival, and, no matter the verdict against that _boastful loudmouth,_2that removal was guaranteed. Despite his apparent incompetence, however, Phineas Bogg was nothing if not resourceful, and ditto his young ward; with that in mind, it didn't hurt to hedge his bets, Drake thought as he watched the young hacker do arcane things with a mouse and keyboard to remove his file from the Locator database.

A week later, he had reason to be very glad he had taken that precaution.

_**Voyager Headquarters, the day of the trial**_

"This court has no hold on me!" Drake declared, backing away from the bench and reaching for his Omni.

"Bailiff, stop that man!" Garth ordered.

The bailiff, just bringing Jeffrey back into the courtroom, grabbed the now-disgraced Voyager, but Drake pushed him away.

"Hey, wait a minute! You're not going anywhere!" Jeffrey snarled, grabbing the man's arm in a vain attempt to prevent him from triggering the device. In the same instant, Bogg dove across the room in one of his trademark flying leaps, grabbing hold of Drake just as the rogue's fumbling fingers found the bug-out button, and all three of them vanished.3

"Now what?" Kane breathed.

Garth, still leaning forward in his seat, collapsed against the chair-back. "All we can do is recess until they come back," he sighed, then straightened as he went on more briskly, "but we won't be idle." He rose to his feet, with the other two judges following suit. "Susan, take this Omni down to TE and have Will Parker see about restoring the memory unit; no one else. Then locate and retrieve Voyager Bogg and the boy. I'm going to the Archives to see just how badly Drake twisted young Jeffrey's record."

"Is there anything we can do?" Brindle asked after Susan had left.

"Yes. Start compiling a list of the banished Voyagers; their counsels will have to be notified that their cases are being reopened."

A page was working the reception window at Temporal Engineering when Susan arrived. "Ray, is Professor Parker here?"

The boy checked a roster. "Yes, he is, but he's down in the Core; he's left standing instructions never to interrupt him when he's down there."

"Except in emergencies, I hope, because this is definitely an emergency. The Tribunal needs this Omni checked. The case is still in progress."

"I'll call him, then." Ray Swirski picked up the phone; a moment later, he handed it to her.

She took it. "Will? It's Susan."

"What's this about an Omni?"came the irritated voice of Will Parker. "I've got the Core going apeshit down here, and you're talking to me about a single Omni? Get somebody from Repair to take care of it!"

She raised an eyebrow. With the strict prohibitions against swearing they'd been under during their time in Orientation and the Academy, they'd all reverted to childhood substitutes, as well as inventing some new ones; Will had taken to invoking someone named Sam instead of the Christian Savior. For him to resort to an actual oath now meant the situation was serious. "Will, this could be just as urgent as your Core problem. Drake's been tampering with Omni memory units; that's how he's been getting all those convictions. I've got one to be restored, and I've been instructed that you're the only one I'm to give it to." She winced and hastily pulled the receiver away from her ear at the cacophony coming over the line from the ancient mainframe.

"Dammit, will you tone it down?" Will complained, his voice muffled as if he'd turned away from his phone; a sultry-sounding feminine voice in the background said something Susan couldn't make out, and Will grumbled, "Oh, _now_ you manage a coherent sent—say _what?"_ Then he was talking to Susan again, urgently now. "Sue, is that Phin's Omni you're talking about?"

"Yes; how did you know?"

"Because _that's_ what the Core's been trying to tell me! I'm on my way!"

"Will, you're white as a sheet," Susan remarked when he came into the room. "What is it?"

"Believe me, I'd like nothing more than to tell you, but I can't; it's classified. How'd Drake get his hands on this to tamper with it?" he asked, taking the battered brass Omni from her.

"I don't know, but Phineas swears the last image isn't right, and I believe him."

"Don't blame you, either. He may have been a pirate, but that guy's got a sense of honor that could put some of my leathernecks to shame. I'll get right on it. You waiting?"

"Yes. Garth wants this back as fast as possible; the tribunal has to review the evidence all over again."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Be right back." With that, he left, and Susan took a seat in the small waiting area. Neither noticed Ray's pallid color as he buried his nose in his schoolbooks.

The words on the page refused to make sense through his distress. People might not actually _like_ Voyager Drake, but many of them had begun to regard the man as some kind of hero, ferreting out crooked Voyagers that no one would have suspected, only now it seemed that Drake himself was the crooked one. Suddenly it was all too clear why he had wanted his Locator file and his Omni serial number deleted. Ray didn't dare come forward, though, not with Drake's threat hanging over his head. Even though the deletions implied that the man might flee VHQ, there was no way of telling how far his reach might extend. After all, Drake had supporters throughout the Voyager hierarchy.

Will had the Omni's memory unit in a sealed "clean box," where he handled it with waldos as he carefully opened it and began the analysis. When it was completed, he connected a small cable to a minuscule output jack; he was still in the process of uploading the contents into a permanent record when Mike Bridges came in. "What're you doing here, Will?" he wanted to know.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" the former marine shot back with a grin.

"Okay, so what's the director of Core Control doing repairing a memory unit?"

"Try _restoring_ instead of _repairing."_

Mike's eyes widened. "You mean somebody actually altered the data in a memory unit? Who?" he demanded incredulously. A lot of Code Articles had been violated in the course of the Voyagers' long history, but that was one offense that no one had ever committed before.

A soft _ping_ alerted Will that the upload was complete, and he remained silent during the painstaking process of re-sealing the unit. Mike waited quietly through the delicate procedure, admittedly a little envious of the other man's skill with the waldos. He could probably _write_ with the darn things and have it be indistinguishable from his actual handwriting.

Once Will had finished and had removed the unit from the "clean box," Mike pressed, "C'mon, Will, _give!_ Whose Omni is that?"

"Phin Bogg's."

"Unh-_uh!"_ Mike denied. "No way! There's no way he'd tamper with a memory unit; that guy's almost as much of a Boy Scout as the Founder himself!"

"I didn't say he did. I just said it was his Omni," Will teased.

"Will you come on and give me a straight answer already?"

"Okay, okay. Don't have a cow. Phin's on trial; he insists the images from the memory unit were false, so they sent the Omni here for testing."

"You mean _he's_ number thirty-one?"

"Yeah, but Drake still only has thirty convictions." Will's grin now threatened to split his face in two.

"He lost one? _Yes!"_ Mike whooped, jubilantly pumping his fist in the air; then he froze as the full implications of the news hit him. "Wait a minute; are you telling me that _Drake's_ the one who mucked with that Omni?"

"He mucked with something, but not this Omni; everything tests normal."

"Hey, let's see the trial; I want to see the look on that lowlife's face when he's caught out."

Will went to the computer and pulled up the file in question. "There you go; knock yourself out. I have to get this back to Susan; she's waiting for it."

He was nearly at the door when Mike's voice halted him in his tracks. "Hey, Phin's got a kid with him!"

Will darted back and stared at the screen. _It all started with this kid, _his former employer's voice rang in his ears, and his jaw dropped at what he saw. _"Sam on a crutch!"_ he spat and bolted from the room, clawing for his phone as he went.

"I'm sorry, but Professor Garth is in deliberations and isn't taking calls right now," the voice of a Council Aide informed him.

"Better put this one through; it's directly related to the case. It's about the Omni they sent to have tested."

"Very well; stand by."

Susan stood up as he came into the waiting area; he held up a hand to bid her wait.

"Yes, this is Garth," a voice said in Will's ear. "I presume this is urgent, that you insisted on speaking to me directly."

"Yes, sir, it is. That kid—"

"Jeffrey Jones, yes. I've sent an Aide to pull his complete record, as the excerpts I was shown during the trial are suspect."

"So you haven't sent him home yet. Good; _don't._ When you check his file, you'll find out he's supposed to be here."

"And how is it that you know this?"

"I'll tell you when I get there; I'd rather not discuss it on the phone. Classified information, sir."

"What's going on?" Susan asked when he'd hung up.

He shook his head. "I still can't tell you, Sue; I'm really sorry."

"Can't you give me _something, _Will? Phineas is really attached to that boy; it's killing him that he has to be sent back home."

"No, he doesn't," Will told her. "That much I _can_ tell you."

Garth was alone when Will was admitted to the judges' chamber; on the table before him were two envelopes labeled _Jeffrey Jones_. One was substantially thicker than the other, and it was the fuller one the Chief Elder was just opening when the engineer came in. He set it aside and gave his full attention to his visitor. "So tell me how it is you know Jeffrey is supposed to be here."

From a hardshell pouch on his belt, Will produced a remote link to the Core. "May I?" he asked, indicating the chair next to Garth. When the old professor nodded, he sat down and entered commands on the calculator-like device, then held it so Garth could see the images on the tiny screen. "When I first started at the project, I asked the observer why they were still keeping it running, since its founder had been missing for more than ten years and was probably dead. In answer, he showed me these slides."

Garth looked at the picture. There was a nervous-looking Jeffrey facing a tall, slender man who was looking pensively at the object, unmistakably an Omni, in his hand. "Is that…_him_?" he breathed, his tone making it clear that, though he knew who the Founder was, this was the first time he had ever seen a picture of him. Will nodded.

If he had been dumbfounded by some of the things he had seen at the trial, this left him positively poleaxed. His gaze strayed to the open door to the courtroom, where Bogg's Omni once more rested in the memory-reader's receptacle. The holo-frame, visible through the doorway, remained blank.

Now the former Marine shook his head. "It won't be there, because it hasn't happened to them yet."

"Good heavens; you're telling me that _Jeffrey_ is responsible…?"

"Quite possibly. But there's more, sir. This next shot was recorded in the—uh, call it a primitive version of the Omnitron," Will cut himself off, realizing that the actual phrase would be meaningless to Garth. The image showed the Founder standing next to Garth, wearing only what appeared to be longjohns and a very confused expression. Will was holding out his BDU tunic to the man; off to one side stood Phineas and Jeffrey, both looking shaken to their respective cores.

For a long moment, Garth just stared at the picture, the significance of which left him completely numb. "When?" he finally managed.

"That, I don't know," Will said. "Not for certain, but if I use Jeffrey's appearance as a guide, then my best guess is, within the year."

"Thank Heaven Susan found that diary, or we would have made a deadly mistake. And the Omni?"

"There's nothing wrong with it, sir; the problem was with the reader rather than the Omni. If you'll excuse me, I need to get this news back to Ben."

Ben Alvarez, head of Temporal Engineering, gazed at his assembled section heads. "Will here has just advised me that the Founder himself is going to be coming here at some point. We don't know exactly when, or even if it's going to be permanent; only that it's most likely going to be sometime this year, next year at the latest. We need procedures in place to handle it.

"First and foremost, I need someone to cross-train at Orientation; their people just aren't equipped to answer his questions, either from a security standpoint or a technical one. Have the Aides run a Class One-A security clearance check on your candidates, since whoever is chosen is going to have to be told the Founder's actual identity. Will, since our links to the original project are your bailiwick, it'll be up to you to make sure that whoever gets the job is able to answer any questions the Founder may have in regard to those links. And no, I won't even consider you for that job; I need you right where you are, since you're the best qualified to handle the massive quantum effect that's bound to occur when he arrives. Your job in the meantime is going to be to get the Core prepared. Any questions or comments? All right; back to work then. Will, hold on a moment, will you?" When everyone else had left, he grinned, a lopsided grin that made him look like an aging Han Solo. "Okay, so tell me: Who won the pool?"

1 White-hat hackers work free-lance, breaking into corporate systems to discover weaknesses in their security, which they then report to the company so the weaknesses can be corrected. They are paid for this service after the fact; they aren't placed on permanent payrolls because of the legal difficulties involved. Hacking is, after all, illegal. ;D

2 _Phineas_ is an ancient Hebrew name meaning "loudmouth;" _Bogg_ comes from an Old English word meaning "boastful." (.com)

3 Adapted from _Voyagers!: _"The Trial of Phineas Bogg."


	2. Chapter 1  The Name Game

**Acknowledgments: **Several people outside the fan-fiction community have provided assistance with this story, and I'd like to take a moment to spread the credit around where it's due. Adam L. Beberg at mithral (dot) com (tilde) beberg was kind enough to answer a few questions about corporate practices regarding the white hats who assist them in maintaining cyber security, and special thanks go to Doug Jones and the crew of Computer Upgraders in Sumter, SC, for the technical advice. (If you're ever in Sumter and you have computer trouble, go to Computer Upgraders; they're tops. They'll also provide advice at their website, computerupgraders dot com. Or just look for them on Facebook.) Within the fan-fiction community, arathorn75 provided technical help. Mrs. Phineas Bogg has my heartfelt thanks for her assistance and advice in crafting the prologue, and, as always, thanks to Jordre for the beta.

**Disclaimer: **Voyagers! and its associated characters are registered trademarks of Scholastic Productions, James D. Parriott Productions, and Universal-MCA Entertainment. Quantum Leap and its associated characters are registered trademarks of Belisarius Productions and Universal Studios. This story is based on characters and situations created by James D. Parriott and Donald P. Bellisario and is provided for entertainment purposes only; no copyright infringement is intended by the author.

Chapter 1  
>The Name Game<p>

_**Daytona, Florida; November 3, 1916**_

It had been three days since Jeffrey had run afoul of two bigoted teens bent on teaching him a lesson for daring to befriend Mary McLeod Bethune and her students. They had taken him by surprise in the boarding house where he and Bogg had been staying and had beaten him severely; only the fact that other boarders had intervened had prevented the boy's injuries from being worse than they were. As it was, he had sustained massive bruising and a mild concussion. Typically for such injuries, he was sorer now than he had been when it had happened, though the dizziness had resolved, and the doctor had pronounced him fit for as much activity as he could tolerate.

If he'd had any lingering doubts about his place with Bogg after Voyager Price had met them to deliver a new Guidebook, they had been dispelled by Bogg's assertion. _You're my kid in all but name and blood,_ the older Voyager had said, then had made an offer that had taken him completely by surprise: _I can change the "name" part of that if you want._ The boy's face had lit up at the words, but Bogg had stopped him from answering at once. An important decision like that, he'd insisted, needed careful consideration.

At first it had taken no thought at all; after all, he'd been secretly hoping for that very thing for months. For a man who claimed not to be known for his patience, Bogg had shown an amazing amount of it in the past year. He'd gone a long way toward filling the void in Jeffrey's heart created by the loss of his parents. There was only a small "hole" left now, which the boy suspected would always be there, but it didn't hurt quite so much anymore. It had been that Christmas Eve in 1892 Pittsburgh when the realization had first hit him…

_…Amy at the piano, Jeffrey at her side, as together they sang "Silent Night," his heart soaring as the last shreds of conflict between his parents and Bogg fell away. If this had happened only a few months ago, he probably would have wanted to stay here with his great-grandparents, but not now. Surrounded by the furnishings and trinkets he'd grown up with, he finally realized the truth: This wasn't a homecoming, but a final farewell. Almost comfortable in familiar surroundings, he felt just a little bit out of place, and he realized how much a year traveling through time had changed him, enough so that the trappings of his past no longer quite fit, the same way his clothes didn't quite fit anymore. Before much longer, he would have to leave them behind, just as he now found himself ready to leave his past behind. His parents were gone; his place was with Bogg now, and he was happy with that. More than happy. The guilty wish he'd harbored since the first time he'd heard Bogg call him "my kid" became a dead certainty: If there was an adoption in his future, he knew where he wanted it to come from._1

With that in mind, he'd been certain of his answer for all of fifteen minutes, until the actual wording of the offer had sunk in, and he'd become uncertain all over again. Unable to tolerate sitting up to read until yesterday evening, he'd spent the better part of the past few days battling renewed guilt and emotional discord. He was still wrestling with it now as the two got ready to leave.

Seeing Jeffrey going through that struggle, Bogg pretended not to notice. While he couldn't claim to know just what the kid was enduring, he did understand the clash of loyalties; he'd experienced it himself when he hadn't been much older. Sometimes it was all he could do to ignore the boy's pain, but he didn't want to put any more pressure on him than he was already causing himself.

_**North Dakota; September, 1935**_

They landed at the far end of a railroad station, unnoticed amidst the bustle of passengers boarding and arriving. The tracks and station formed the median in the center of the small town's main street, where the day's activities were just beginning. On one side of the street, shopkeepers were cranking open the awnings over their storefronts; on the other, a cluster of children carrying schoolbooks and lunch pails walked past a row of small houses. They ranged in age from one small boy probably in his first year, to one roughly Jeffrey's age, who was teasing a slightly younger girl in that manner common to big brothers in almost every time and place.

The idyllic setting was enough to make one wonder what of importance could possibly have happened here, and Bogg momentarily gave in to that temptation as he got to his feet, looking for Jeffrey. He found the boy barely a foot away, struggling to get up, grimacing in pain; the older Voyager winced sympathetically as he gave him a hand.

"Where are we?" Jeff asked.

"North Dakota, 1935. _And_ we got a green light."

"I guess the Omni decided we could use a vacation. O wise and merciful Omni," he intoned, making salaaming motions at the device in Bogg's hand. His guardian swatted playfully at him, and he danced out of reach, laughing, even as he held a hand against his left side.

Was there anything that could keep that kid down for long, Bogg wondered, never ceasing to be amazed at his resilience. While Jeffrey insisted he was only badly bruised, as had the doctor, Bogg wasn't so sure. He'd heard of hairline fractures, cracks so fine that even the most advanced medical equipment didn't always show them, much less the primitive x-ray machines of the time zone they had just left, and he knew it didn't take much for one to progress to a complete break. Maybe a vacation wasn't such a bad idea, after all. "Let's see what we can do about getting some warmer clothes," he said, noticing the goosebumps on Jeff's arms and beginning to feel the chill himself. They made their way to the general store, glad that at least they had landed in a time zone where the money they had left from their last assignment should still be good.

The ground floor was devoted to groceries; a sign directed them up a flight of stairs at the back of the shop for clothing and other dry goods. Behind those stairs was the door to the basement; it stood open, emitting the sounds of someone struggling up the steps with something heavy. Bogg spared a glance and found an elderly woman carrying a box of Mason jars, which threatened to slide from her insecure grip. He rushed forward and caught it just as she lost her hold altogether. She cringed, obviously expecting to hear the shattering of glass as the box fell, then relaxed when she saw that Bogg had caught it. "Thank you so much, young man," she sighed in relief. "Could I possibly trouble you to bring up two more boxes? My son's home sick today, and Mrs. Conklin's going to be here in a few minutes; she gets terribly crotchety if her order isn't ready when she arrives."

Bogg chuckled, knowing the type too well. "Just point me at 'em, ma'am. Jeff, you go on upstairs and pick out a coat for yourself; I'll be there as soon as I'm done."

The boy started to offer to help, but the protest of abused muscles as he reached forward made him think better of it.

Once upstairs, he found the coats quickly and began looking through them. There wasn't much to choose from; they were all similar in cut and style, and differed little in color: Black, charcoal gray, dark brown, or navy blue were his only options. With a shrug, he selected a blue one and tried it on.

He knew he was the reason they were even bothering to stay in a green zone long enough to worry about clothes. He had only been joking about a vacation, but Bogg was taking it seriously, and Jeffrey had to admit that, this time, his sometimes overprotective guardian was right: He really wasn't ready to handle another assignment.

Finding the coat a decent fit, he took it off and draped it over his arm as he wandered over to the hardware section to browse as he waited. Tools whose functions he wouldn't have been able to guess a year ago were familiar to him now; he smiled as he remembered Bogg teaching him to use some of them.

It brought him back to Bogg's offer once more; like the Omni memory-reader in the courtroom a few weeks ago, his mind began parading memories before his consciousness.

_"Please don't let them take me, Bogg!" Jeffrey sobbed._

_"I don't think I can stop them, Jeff," Bogg told him. "But if they do take you," his voice cracked, and he sniffed heavily, "I'll make them take you back to before I came along. Before the accident; before your parents died. I promise." His eyes, swimming in unshed tears, bored into Jeffrey's. "That's a promise I won't break."_

_Jeffrey nodded, but even as he did, he suddenly realized he wasn't sure he wanted them back. It was a thought that brought all the old guilt rushing back…_2

_…Landing after their precipitous departure from the courtroom, giddy with joy and relief, laughing at the clear impression Susan's lipstick had left on both their faces. Bogg pulled out his shirttail and used it to wipe the marks off Jeffrey's face and his own; then, as he tucked the shirt back in, he grinned, "Congratulations, Voyager Jones."_

_Said Voyager had never been happier in his life. _There's only one thing I'd rather be called,_ the guilty thought came all unbidden, taking him by surprise._

Now that fleeting thought, all but forgotten until now, had come home to roost. Bogg had made the offer not simply of adoption, but of his very name—his _name,_ something Jeffrey understood in a way none of his friends back home ever could. The self-recrimination was nearly overwhelming at the thought of superceding the one he had from his father.

Sudden awareness of a presence behind him, one that didn't feel like Bogg, brought him out of his reverie, and he turned. "Good morning, Officer," he said to the policeman he found standing there.

The man scrutinized him closely. "That's quite a shiner," he remarked.

Jeffrey shrugged. "Some kids decided they didn't like my choice of friends."

"Is that why you're trying to play hooky?"

"Hooky?" Jeffrey repeated indignantly. "I've never played hooky in my life!"

This elicited a skeptical sigh. "What's your name?" the officer demanded.

Considering his thoughts of a moment ago, what came out of his mouth was only to be expected, but it was as much a surprise to him as it would have been to the older Voyager had he heard it. "Jeffrey Bogg," he replied. It sent an electric shock through him, and he couldn't keep from smiling.

Wrong move; the cop thought he was being snide and took his arm in a firm grip. "Well, then, why don't we just see what your parents have to say about this. Where—"

"Is there some kind of problem here?" Bogg interrupted, just coming up the stairs.

"Is this your boy?"

"Yes."

"Were you aware that he was trying to skip school?"

"School?" Bogg repeated, momentarily confused.

"Yes, Mr. Bogg; school. Or are you one of those who still see it as a waste of time?"

"Of course not!" Bogg replied. "I'm an itinerant handyman," he went on, repeating the cover story they had used in Florida. "He's been traveling with me since his mother passed, and we're rarely in one place long enough for him to go to school. I teach him myself."

"How long will you be here?"

"I don't know yet; we just got here a few minutes ago."

The policeman's whole demeanor immediately softened. "Well, I hope you'll accept my apologies," he said. "I'm relatively new in town myself, or I probably would've realized you were strangers here. If you need a place to stay, the Hennesys have a boarding house across the street. You can't miss it; it's the biggest house on the block. They should be able to tell you if anybody in the area is looking for help."

Only after the man had left did Bogg realize he'd addressed him by name without any introductions having been made. "I guess you told him my name, huh?"

The question took Jeffrey by surprise, seeming to come out of the blue as it did, until he thought back over the encounter and came to the same realization. "Uhhh, not _exactly,"_ he stammered, suddenly oddly embarrassed to admit what he'd said.

"Then what 'exactly' _did_ you tell him?" he persisted, fighting to hide his grin, pretty sure he knew what the boy's answer would be. It wasn't hard to guess, considering what he had been pondering for the last few days, and Bogg knew, from something his best friend had once told him, that trying the name on was part of it, though saying it out loud probably hadn't been in the kid's game plan.

His face darkening to an alarming shade of red, Jeffrey confirmed his suspicion.

"Hey, careful; you'll burst a blood vessel," Bogg teased him gently, then squatted down and smiled at him. "It's okay, kid," he reassured him. "In fact, it's more than okay. I'm honored."

Jeffrey's face lit up, then turned thoughtful, and Bogg held his breath, sensing that the moment of truth had come.

The uncertainty was almost unbearable, but the boy choked back his tears. He was _not_ going to cry. He had to make his decision _now,_ and he needed his head clear for that, not clouded with overflowing emotions.

But it was an emotional decision by its very nature. _Mom, Dad, what do I do?_ he pleaded silently. _I _want_ this! I still love you, but…_ It sounded so cold, so heartless, but he had to acknowledge it. _…but you aren't here anymore, and __**he is!**_

Barely had the thought formed when a feeling of profound peace flooded into him. The need to cry vanished as if it had never been, and he turned back to his companion with a bright smile. "Okay, Bogg; let's make that trip to VHQ."

His face glowing like a million suns, Bogg grabbed the boy in a bone-crushing hug, and Jeffrey didn't care that it made his side hurt. Then, one arm still draped over the boy's shoulders, he unclipped the Omni from his belt. "You got it…_Voyager Bogg," _he replied with a grin, which Jeffrey mirrored. He'd nailed it, the one thing he'd rather be called…and oh,_ boy,_ weren't they going to cause some confusion, he thought wickedly as, hidden from view by the clothing racks, they slipped into the Cosmos.

1 Adapted from _Voyagers!:_ "Merry Christmas, Bogg."

2 Adapted from _Voyagers!:_ "The Trial of Phineas Bogg."


	3. Chapter 2  Settling In

**Chapter 2**  
><strong>Settling In<strong>

_**Voyager Headquarters: Training Facility**_

The corridor was crowded with students heading in both directions, rushing to their next class; they all froze at the telltale whistling sound, loud in the confined space. All eyes turned to the ceiling, looking for the spot of black that would be the first indication of an opening time portal. "Over here!" one student called, and those close to her all scrambled to create a clear space for the incoming Voyager.

Make that Voyagers, they amended as two pairs of feet came through the enlarging hole. But that one was just a kid!

Bogg immediately recognized his surroundings, but why had the Omni dropped them in the middle of the Voyager school? With one of them injured, they should have landed in Medical. Then he realized that the system probably wasn't reading Jeffrey, since he hadn't yet been scanned into it. For the first time, he regretted leaving in such a hurry after the trial.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a loud _"ow!"_ from the smaller heap beside him. "You okay, kid?"

"I don't know," Jeffrey admitted, his arms tightly wrapped around himself. "I think I felt something snap."

Bogg turned to check him over once more, but was interrupted by a familiar strident female voice shouting commandingly, "All right, clear the hall!" The student Voyagers reluctantly began to move again, though they were careful to leave room around the pair still sitting on the floor where they had landed.

A woman not much taller than Jeffrey shouldered her way through the tide of bodies and halted before them. Her solid, hefty frame lent a formidable appearance to the fortyish brunette, despite her small size. Dark eyes snapping, she demanded, "And what's this? On your feet, both of you. And _you_ know this area's off limits to pages," she added to Jeffrey, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him up. His cry of pain startled her into letting go as the man she'd mistaken for a student shot to his feet and got between her and the boy. "Keep your hands off him, Dragon Lady!" he snapped. "Can't you see he's hurt?"

At the sound of the nickname, she froze. No current student would dare call her that to her face, but she knew of at least two former ones who would, and she suddenly recognized him. Then she looked carefully at the boy with him and was mortified to realize that his outburst was justified. His arms were a mass of bruises, and his left eye was swollen shut, with a truly magnificent shiner darkening that whole side of his face. How could she have missed that? "I am so sorry," she said. "It was a terrible mistake, and there's no excuse for it."

It would be a long time—if ever—before the kid would learn of the nightmares he was having over the incident; Bogg's still-raw nerves would not let him be mollified. "You're darn right, there isn't," he growled.

"Bogg!" Jeffrey called sharply; when there was no response, mischief danced in his eyes despite his pain as he snapped, _"Down,_ Bogg!"

That got a reaction; the older Voyager whirled and turned that icy glare on him. "Do I look like a dog to you?" he snarled.

"No, but I didn't think you really wanted to attack a lady," Jeffrey replied, with very slight emphasis on the word.

He winced as that emphasis registered, and the last of the fight drained out of him. _He knows me too well,_ he thought fondly, even as he let out an embarrassed chuckle. "I'm sorry, Professor Franklin; I'm afraid I lost it for a minute there," he said.

"That's quite all right; all children should have such protectors. Bad landing?" she added as she watched him gently probe Jeffrey's sides.

"No worse than usual," he replied, then grimaced when the boy let out a sharp hiss. "Yeah, you've cracked at least one, maybe two," Bogg told him, then went on to Franklin, "He was already injured. My guess is he had a couple of hairline fractures, and this last landing was just one jolt too many."

"What happened?" she asked, keeping to herself the thought that perhaps Will wasn't anthropomorphizing as much as she'd suspected when he complained that the Core had a warped sense of humor. It was an artificial intelligence, after all, and if dropping an injured Voyager this far from Medical wasn't warped, she didn't know what was.

"Some locals came after Jeff and me because we helped Mary Bethune with her school."

"Fatherless bigots," Franklin spat, then scrutinized Jeffrey in concern. "Kids may be resilient, but I don't like what this one's color is doing. There's no way you're making him walk all the way to Medical. My office is right here; you can wait there while I call for transport." Jeffrey opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a sound, she cut him off. "No arguments, Voyager Jones. Now march!" she ordered, pointing imperiously toward her office.

Bogg shrugged helplessly and jerked his head minutely in that direction. "And _that's_ why she's called the Dragon Lady," he murmured as they went inside.

They found themselves in an outer office furnished in something that didn't _quite_ resemble a Victorian combination office/sitting room. A matching oak filing cabinet and roll-top desk—the latter currently vacant—were in the corner next to the door to the inner office; the rest of the room was taken up by a leather sofa and several matching chairs. A colorful afghan was draped over the back of the sofa, and a vase of silk flowers graced the coffee table. Bogg helped Jeff lie down on the couch and put the afghan over him, his concern stepping up several notches as he observed for himself the pasty hue the kid's face had assumed. It hadn't yet affected his alertness, however; he watched intently as Franklin produced from a pocket something that looked like a _Star Trek_ communicator, flipped it open, punched a few buttons, and held it up to her ear.

The boy's jaw dropped. "Is that a _telephone?"_ he demanded incredulously, making Bogg grin at the thought of all the wonders the kid was going to see here, things that hadn't existed yet even in 1982.

"You have a good touch, Voyager Bogg," Dr. Amy Bartlett complimented him as she completed Jeffrey's examination. "I'll know more once we get some x-rays, but he definitely has one fractured rib and probably a second. I'm also a little concerned about that shiner; as massive as it is, he could have a fractured cheekbone. He's not showing any signs of it, but I'm ordering some facial x-rays to make sure. We'll go ahead and run the full spectrum of blood tests while we're at it, including those for Locator and telemetry data; that'll complete his initial physical exam."

Bogg nodded. "I'll be coming due for my annual soon, so I might as well schedule it while he's off getting all that done."

"Good idea. I'll notify them to have counselors review your Omni's memory unit in preparation for both your sessions."

Upon hearing this, the boy made a face. "Do I _have_ to?" he groaned.

"It's standard procedure, kid. I have to see one, too," Bogg told him. "Every year."

Dr. Bartlett smiled at the boy. "I think you'll find our counselors are quite different from the ones you knew at home." She turned back to Bogg. "Since he's also showing signs of mild shock, I'd like to keep him overnight for observation. He's in no condition for field duty and won't be for six to eight weeks, so you may as well arrange for quarters while he's having his x-rays done. Someone will be here soon to draw blood and take him to Radiology."

"Bet you never expected a vacation to be _that_ long," Jeffrey quipped after the doctor had left.

"If I did, you know I'd be hoping for better circumstances," Bogg grinned back.

Though it seemed to Jeffrey that things happened much faster, it was another hour or so before he was settled in a room, his face pronounced free of fractures, but his chest tightly wrapped. Aside from having to adjust to the constricting bandages, he was considerably more comfortable and soon drifted off to sleep. Bogg settled himself in the recliner furnished for visitors and dozed on and off until Jeffrey awoke some time later, asking for something to eat. He levered himself out of the chair and headed toward the door to ask at the nurses' desk, but before he reached said door, there was a perfunctory knock, and it swung open as the visitor poked his head in. "Well, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, if it isn't our favorite pirate!" he grinned. "Phin, how are ya?"

Bogg's face lit up. "Will!" he cried happily, and the two men collided in the embrace of close friends who hadn't seen each other in far too long. "You're never going to let me hear the end of that, are you, _jarhead?"_

"Watch it, _squid,"_ Will shot back in mock warning, then said, "I came over as soon as Carrie Franklin told me you'd come in. She said the kid was hurt; nothing too serious, I hope."

Bogg gave him a brief summary of their last assignment; as they talked, Jeffrey took a closer look at Will. He wore camouflage fatigues in desert colors, a pattern that had been brand-new in 1982; all insignia had been removed, leaving behind only black Velcro patches where they should have been. He had brown hair and eyes, and features that looked oddly familiar, but the boy couldn't place him.

Will turned to him with a grin. "Will Parker, temporal engineer and resident bookie," he introduced himself. "You're taking good care of this big ox of a Voyager, I hope."

"Are you kidding? I don't dare do anything else!" Jeffrey replied with a wicked grin. "Decent guardians aren't exactly a dime a dozen, you know!"

"Oh, I hear ya!" Will laughed as Bogg tried to decide if he'd just been praised or insulted. The ex-Marine gently turned Jeffrey's head for a better look at the left side of his face, then let out a whistle. "Man, that's a beaut! Did you get the number of the truck?" Then he noticed the intent way Jeff was looking at him. "What?" he asked.

"You look familiar, that's all," the boy replied. "Did you live in New York?"

"Out on the Island(1), actually, but considering I wasn't born until '85, we wouldn't even have met in passing," Will told him and added, "and I've never been in the field except for an occasional vacation in a green zone."

"That's it!" Bogg put in as the phrase "in the field" triggered a memory. "Jeff, remember the time we hit three railroad legends in a row?"

"Nicky Cole!" Jeffrey realized.

Will blinked. "Great Train Wreck of 1856?" he asked.

"Yeah; the kid had wedged himself under a bench and passed out from the heat in the car. It was Jeff who pried him loose and got him out of there."

"That was you?" Will demanded incredulously. "He was my four-times-great grandfather. The whole incident made him a bit of a family legend, so much so that I didn't want to let go of the name when I was adopted."

"What did you do?" Jeffrey asked.

"Kept it as my middle name." Jeffrey looked thoughtful as Will went on, "Picked up another family legend, too; turned out my adoptive father was descended from George Parker."

"The con man?"

"The very same." With a wink, he added in a sly stage-whisper, "Want to buy a bridge?"

Both of them laughed at that, then Bogg said, "You're the…_techno-geek;_ maybe you can explain something for me." There was a barely perceptible pause as he tried to recall some of Will's colorful slang. "Right after we landed in Florida, another Voyager dropped in. We weren't in trouble; we didn't even know what our assignment was yet."

There were two hard chairs in the room in addition to the recliner; Will sat in one of them and propped his feet up on the other. 'Sharon Fields, wasn't it?" At Bogg's nod, he went on, "She came back here a few days ago, asking to speak to the Council. Nobody knows what she told them, but after that, they sent a squad of Council Aides into the field."

"She may have told them where Drake was," Bogg told him. "She ran into him when she went back into the field after her last stay in Medical."

"She was probably royally torqued off when she heard the truth; they were pretty good friends," Will remarked.

"They were more than just friends; she told me he was her boyfriend."

Jeffrey's jaw dropped. "You gotta be kiddin' me! She told us she heard all about the trial!"

"Remember when I went to talk to her after you were hurt? She told me then. Yeah, she heard the talk, and knew he'd left Headquarters, but he told her he'd been set up."

"And she believed him?"

"Love is blind, kid. She believed him because she loved him."

"So why would she turn him in?"

Bogg answered with another question. "How did those kids know where to find you?"

Jeffrey thought about that for a long moment. "The only ones who knew—not counting Mrs. Donovan—weren't people those kids would even talk to. But if Sharon went to see Drake that first night and told him about our assignment—telling them is just the sort of thing that jerk would do."

"That's what Sharon figured happened. It made her realize that Drake didn't really love her, but was just using her."

"And 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,'" Will added.

"You mean she didn't tell him just so he _would_ tell those kids? Bogg, she's the one who said I should stay at the boarding house the night of the march!"

"Not Sharon," Will asserted. "I've met her a few times; she's okay, if a bit misguided. She really believed in all that law-and-order _felgercarb_ Drake was spouting, and there's no way she'd break the Code like that. Once she realized Drake had deliberately endangered you, she would have understood how little the Code really meant to him. When you look at it that way, it makes sense that she'd come clean. It also suggests an answer to your original question."

"You mean why Sharon was sent after us in the first place."

"Yeah. Basically, the Core doesn't like loose ends, and Drake is the loosest of all loose ends. The old girl probably decided it was time Sharon found out about him so she would report him."

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Bogg said, "I thought the Core was a computer. How can a computer decide on its own?"

"A computer can't, but an artificial intelligence can. The Core's an artificial intelligence."

"What's the Core?" Jeffrey wanted to know.

"The center of the Omni control system," Will told him. "She runs the repository of true history that the rest of the system uses to identify what's out of whack and transmit a red or green light to your Omni. She also gets intel from the rest of the system, including the monitoring of Voyagers; that's how we know when somebody's in trouble and needs help. Phin just said Sharon ran into Drake when she went back out into the field; the Core would have known when she did, would have known how Drake lied to her. If you'd overheard that, how would you have reacted?"

"I would've told her Drake was full of it," Jeff replied.

"And if you'd been in a position to do something about it?"

"I would've gone straight to the Council myself. So why didn't the Core alert you guys right then?"

Will made a face. "Because she's a warped old bird, that's why," he said dryly. "She's got this nasty habit of finding ways to rub peoples' faces in their mistakes."

"So it's a real artificial intelligence? They finally figured out how to make one?"

"Yeah, they did; actually, it was the Founder that did it. You've heard about the Founder, right?"

"Yeah. Walter Price told us about him. Does _anybody_ know who he was?"

"Next question," Will said.

That got Bogg's attention; it was the Marine's way of letting you know you'd strayed into territory he wasn't allowed to talk about. _It's my past, and my future,_ he'd said during their first days here, when Bogg had asked him if he had any idea what VHQ was. _You son of a dog, _he thought at his friend as the real meaning of those words sank in for the first time. _Not only do you know who the Founder was, you probably met the guy, maybe even worked with him!_

Will's reply made Jeffrey blink in momentary confusion; then, realizing it meant he wasn't going to get an answer to that particular question, he took the comment at face value and asked another. "What about the Council Aides? What are they?"

It was Bogg who fielded that one. "Price was one of them," he said. "They work directly for the Council; their duties can be anything from clerical, to acting as couriers—that's what Price was doing when he delivered my Guidebook—to being the closest thing to a police force VHQ has."

"And that's why they'd get sent out after Drake," the boy realized.

Once again the door opened after a brief knock, this time admitting a man bearing food trays.

"I think that's my cue," Will said. "How long you guys gonna be here?"

"Several weeks, though they'll probably be releasing Jeff from the infirmary in the morning."

"You got quarters set up, or would you like me to go to Billeting and take care of it?"

"Already done, but thanks."

"No problem. Later, guys."

Bogg set his tray aside and followed Will out of the room. His friend looked at him, knowing exactly what he was up to. "Phin…" he began.

"No, I'm not going to ask you who he was; I know you can't tell me," Bogg reassured him. "But you once said VHQ was your past and your future. You worked with him, didn't you?"

Will sighed. "No, I didn't. He was long gone by the time I came on board."

"But you did work on the original project."

"Yeah."

With a nod, Bogg lightly slapped his shoulder. "Thanks." His curiosity satisfied, he went back inside.

Jeffrey was released with instructions to take it easy for the next two weeks and return at the end of that time for a follow-up. If he was in the least inclined to dispute the restrictions, the walk to their quarters rapidly convinced him otherwise. Even with the support of the bandages, he was in quite a bit of discomfort by the time they reached the small apartment, and so exhausted that he took little note of his surroundings before carefully lowering himself onto the couch. He was asleep almost immediately. The doctor had warned them that the boy probably would not want to do much more than sleep for the first few days as his ribs began to knit, so Bogg was not overly concerned. He ran a hand affectionately through the tousled dark curls and was warmed to the core when a small smile briefly crossed the young sleeper's face.

Jeffrey's counseling sessions turned out not to be the ordeal he'd been dreading. Dan Beeks-Hoffman arrived just as Bogg was leaving for his own appointment; thanks to the Omni's memory unit, he already knew their entire history and how things stood between them. So thoroughly did he succeed in setting the boy at ease that Jeffrey soon found himself telling him everything he wanted to know, not at all like the ones Social Services had sent to see how he was settling in with his aunt. They would have put him into the foster system for sure if he'd dared tell them the truth, and the news in his time had been full of enough scandalous stories for him to know that was definitely something to be avoided.

To top it all off, Dan had not only given a name to the unreasoning fear he felt whenever Bogg left him behind—"separation anxiety," he called it—but also gave him advice on how to deal with it, which was more than the counselors back home had ever even tried to do about his survivor's guilt. He surprised even himself when he suddenly blurted that out without thought, and learned that their ineffectuality in handling it was due to the fact that so little was known about it in 1982. Thinking about that finally allowed him to let go of what he had previously perceived as insult added to injury.

Nor could he deny that it certainly felt good to talk about his feelings surrounding their assignments, especially ones like the _Titanic_ and Pearl Harbor. It was just such missions, Dan told him, that were the reason every field worker had to see a counselor as part of his annual checkup, and it was easy for him to see the wisdom in that.

Bogg came back shortly after Dan had left, this time with Susan in tow. The blonde lawyer smiled. "It's good to see you again, Jeffrey," she said, setting her briefcase on the kitchen table—the living room and kitchen were essentially one large room, with a counter marking the edge of the kitchen. "I hope you're feeling better," she added as the boy slowly levered himself up from the couch.

"Thanks," he acknowledged. "The wrapping really helps."

"Can I get you anything?" Bogg asked her. "They stocked the kitchen for us."

"No; I'm fine," Susan said. "This should only take a few minutes, and I have a client due in my office in about half an hour."

"Please tell me we don't have one of Drake's followers in the Prosecutor's office," Bogg groaned as he pulled out a chair for her.

"No; they actually haven't chosen a new Prosecutor yet. This is actually good news. The Tribunal is reviewing the cases of all those people Drake brought to trial."

"How'd he manage to mess up the Omni's memory unit, anyway?" Jeffrey wanted to know. "He was never alone with it, and even if he was, he would've been zapped like Bogg was if he tried to take it off the reader."

"He re-programmed the reader to show his evidence in the most damaging light possible," Susan told him.

"Re-programmed? You mean that thing's a _computer?" _Jeffrey demanded.

"Believe it or not, it is, even if it does look like something out of an HG Wells novel. It has to do with the aesthetics of the people who invented the Omni."

That remark got Jeffrey bursting with questions, but, knowing she was short on time, he decided to keep them to himself for now, instead watching quietly as she removed some forms from her briefcase.

Bogg picked one up and looked at it. "They're already filled out," he said, puzzled.

Susan laughed, an almost musical sound that even Jeffrey found enchanting. "So Will didn't tell you?"

"Tell us what?"

"While you two were in Texas trying to apprehend Drake, Professor Garth sent your Omni to TE to have the memory unit checked. They uploaded its contents to a permanent record, then somebody broadcast the trial over our television system. Everybody here saw the whole thing—including that conversation you two had while I was looking for Drake's diary," she added.

"Sharon did tell me that everybody here knew this was coming," Bogg said, indicating the form as he handed it back to her. "I'm guessing that's what told them."

She nodded. "They're sure of it to the point that they're betting on _when_ it's going to happen, instead of _if."_

"I bet there were a lot of embarrassed people after Drake was exposed," Jeffrey remarked.

That drew another laugh from Susan. "There were a handful who tried to crawl into a hole and pull it in after them, but the rest of us were like kids at Christmas."

"But Drake made it sound like the majority were in his camp," Bogg said, a little puzzled.

"They were," Susan confirmed. "But that incident caused a major investigation into everything Drake's done since he was recruited. It turns out he manipulated people like you wouldn't believe, playing on each person's individual opinions. A few only followed him because they were afraid of him—"

"He _was_ something of a bully in school," Bogg nodded, then apologized for interrupting.

"More than a bit," Susan agreed. "Three or four people have admitted he was actually blackmailing them, and there may be more who are still afraid to come forward.

"Phineas, don't be surprised if the investigators call you in for questioning." When the pair exchanged worried glances, she reassured them, "You're not under suspicion, but you _are_ an important witness, since you were the first of us to discover the truth about him.

"Anyway, to get back to my point, when Will opened the pool, I took the liberty of filling out the papers in advance; all I need is your signatures and how you want your name put in," she added to Jeffrey.

"Don't we have to have a court hearing?" Jeffrey asked.

"We don't do it that way here," Susan replied. "The forms will be processed in Records, then sent to an Elder for validation. Once that happens, you'll get the certificate. It should all take only two or three days."

"Do we get to pick the Elder?"

"You can, yes."

"Then it should be Professor Garth, don't you think, Bogg?"

"He _is_ the one who told us you were supposed to be a Voyager," Bogg agreed.

"He administered your oath, too, didn't he, Phineas?" At his nod, she went on, "Then I'll have Records route it to his office when they're done with it. So, Jeffrey, what did you decide about your name?"

Coloring just a little, this time pleasantly, he told her.

Bogg grinned. "Took a page out of Will's book, did you?"

"It made sense. This way I get to honor both you_ and_ my parents at the same time."

"It _is_ a very elegant solution," Susan said, replacing the signed papers in her bag. "Now, I hear it's going to be quite some time before you can be released for duty again."

"Yeah," Bogg nodded. "As soon as he's allowed some light activity, I'm planning on taking him on a tour of the place."

"Is there a library?" Jeffrey asked hopefully.

"Getting bored already, are you?" Susan teased. "Phineas, why don't you have somebody from Orientation let him take his placement tests? Then he can get a head start on his preliminary classes while you're here."

"I _was_ only in seventh grade," Jeffrey said. "I guess I'm gonna need some more education before I start Voyager school."

"Well, _that's_ a switch," Susan said. "Usually our junior recruits start groaning when they find out they still have to go to school."

"I _like_ school," Jeffrey said. "Besides, it'll give me something to do."

1) Long Island, referred to simply as "the Island" by all New Yorkers.


	4. Chapter 3 Initiation

Chapter 3

Initiation

Susan got back to her office with fifteen minutes to spare, to find her client already waiting for her in her secretary's office. Understanding the woman's eagerness to get the review proceedings started, Susan invited her in. The secretary announced six more arrivals while she worked with the first one—the work load of a VHQ lawyer was normally light enough that walk-ins were routine. As a result, it wasn't until near the end of the work day that she finally had a chance to do so much as open her briefcase. Thus Allen Compton, at the front desk of the Records department, was getting ready to call it a day when a page brought him the envelope from Legal. He was about to toss it into his "in" box to deal with in the morning when he saw the word "expedite" written on the outside.

Grumbling a little about the delay of his plans this could cause, he opened the envelope and scanned the contents as the girl left. He made a disgusted sound when he saw what it held; his guess on when the adoption would occur had missed by a mile. He slid the forms back in and handed it to another page. "Field section, Personnel Update desk," he instructed. "After you deliver it, you can knock off." Then he turned back to his desk and picked up the phone, never noticing the fact that the page took a peek at the papers himself and made a sour face before he left.

"Parker," came over the handset Compton held to his ear.

"Will, it's Allen over in Records. Time to close the Bogg pool; the papers just crossed my desk."

"Whoa, that was quick; just—what, two months?"

"So who won it?"

There was a pause, presumably while Will checked his list; then, "Tim Shelby," came the reply.

"Again? For cryin' out loud! You gotta find a serious short-straw job for him this time; that's the third time in a row! I'm tellin' you, Will, he's gotta be using his Archive access!"

"Wouldn't've done him any good this time; there's only a file cross-reference to show that it happened at all. I checked."

A grin spread slowly across the clerk's face. "Something just occurred to me. The kid's our newest Voyager, isn't he?"

"Yeah,"Will drawled; Allen thought he sounded like he knew what was coming.

"You do realize he's never been dared, don't you?"

His grin was actually audible in his voice as Will asked, "You got something in mind?"

"I'd seriously like to see him do a solo."

The former Marine snorted. "Allen, he's in the hospital; he looks like somebody worked him over with a two-by-four."

"He won't be laid up forever. It can't hurt to ask, can it?" Allen challenged.

"Actually, it can. You have any idea what Phin's temper is like? He'll be worse than a wounded bear if he thinks there's any threat to that kid!"

Allen let out a wicked-sounding chuckle. "And that's about as short as any straw gets," he said significantly.

"Point taken. I'll have to run it by Professor Garth first, though. Want to place your bet now?"

Garth was just locking up his office when he spotted Will approaching. "Ah, William," he greeted the man cheerfully, moving to open the door once more.

"No need for that, Professor; I just need to ask you something real quick."

"Walk with me, then. What's on your mind?"

"Well, at the moment, Jeffrey Jones is our newest Voyager, and someone suggested a dare for him."

"And since when does anyone ask me about dares?" Garth teased. "I've had my files mixed up, my pens hidden, my office…ah, _papered,_ I believe you call it, and more, and not once has anyone ever said a word in advance."

Will laughed at the memory, as he and Bogg had been the ones to perform that last prank after their graduation. "This isn't the usual hit-and-run mischief, sir. The individual in question wants to challenge Jeffrey to a solo mission."

The old professor's eyes lit up. "Now that's something I wouldn't mind seeing myself," he admitted. "Anything particular in mind?"

"Not yet, but I think, in order to be a real challenge, it needs to be something that happened _after_ 1982, so he'd have to rely entirely on his Guidebook."

Garth might have been well into his seventies, but that had not damped his own playfulness one bit. He became increasingly animated as he and the physicist began to toss ideas back and forth.

Released from his duties for the day, fourteen-year-old Tony Ingram left the Records department, heading for the junior recruits' study hall and his waiting homework. How he hated that kid! It didn't matter that he'd never met him. Not quite thirteen, he'd already been in the field, doing a Voyager's work, for a little over a year, while Tony himself wouldn't even be allowed to start his field training until he was sixteen. Worse, the little so-and-so had actually gotten himself not just fostered, but _adopted!_

Recruiting seemed to acknowledge little in the way of age limits. Children as young as six had been picked up by field workers and brought here, or snatched through the Leapgate from potentially deadly circumstances and deposited into a Blue Room, descriptive of any of the dozen or so featureless Receiving Chambers, with their memories fragmented to varying degrees. It was an effect of that particular transport process, it was said, from which most recovered in a few days, though a rare few took longer. From Receiving and Orientation, they went to the dormitory section reserved for the junior recruits. A few were lucky enough to be fostered out to VHQ staffers, but most of them spent their entire childhood and/or adolescent years in what was informally called the Page Complex. The name came from the page duties those thirteen and older performed for two or three hours a day after school, serving as runners and otherwise assisting the staff. They were rotated through the various departments, which gave them a chance to learn about the various jobs available before choosing a career track. Almost without exception, they started out wanting to be field workers, lured by the life of adventure they perceived it to be, though they were all required to register at least one other preference by the time they completed their first semester at Voyager school.

Tony had been no different from any other junior recruit until two months ago, when all of VHQ had been riveted by the broadcast of the trial of Voyager Drake's thirty-first victim, which had ended with Drake himself fleeing in disgrace. That had been the good news, for the martinet's adherents had been making life miserable for everyone, but had dropped their campaign like a hot potato when their leader's duplicity had been exposed. The bad news, at least as far as some of the pages had been concerned, had been Voyager Bogg's young companion, who had never seen the inside of a Receiving Chamber or any of the rest of it, but had gone straight into the field from his home. His very presence had been part of the charges against Voyager Bogg, though that one had been dropped from the list when it had been proven that an Omni malfunction had been the root cause.

Everyone had been gobsmacked to see the boy's courage displayed from the Omni's memory unit, because of which most had applauded the tribunal's decision to bestow full Voyager status on the twelve-year-old and send him straight back into the field with his guardian. The kid had gone from junior recruit to probationary field worker in the space of a few hours, a fact that had been a bitter pill for the pages to swallow. Jealousy had run rife among them for a while, but it had eventually quieted down, even turning to admiration in some cases as news of more of the boy's exploits had begun to spread. He was a natural, the adults were saying, _born_ to be a Voyager, but the envy had only grown and festered in Tony's heart.

Because status trumped age, the pages would be required to address him as "Voyager" should they happen to have occasion to speak to him, but Tony would be a monkey's uncle if he'd give that honor to a kid younger than he was. He was more likely to beat him to a bloody pulp if he ever actually met him, even if the headmaster gave him a whole year of detention for it.

Walking into the study hall, he found Billy Schaeffer there, one of the oldest pages—just a month shy of sixteen, he would be transferred to the Voyager Academy at the beginning of the next term. No one else was in the room yet.

Billy looked up as Tony dropped his books on the table. "Man, you look like you just ate a whole bushel of lemons," he remarked. "What happened?"

"I just got reminded of Jeffrey Jones' existence, that's what," Tony said bitterly. "Oh, excuse me, Jeffrey _Bogg,"_ he corrected himself with a sneer. "Voyager Bogg just adopted him."

Billy sighed. "Don't tell me you're still jealous of that kid," he said.

"Aren't you?"

"Not really. Field work's not the big, fun adventure you think it is. Sometimes bad stuff happens in history, and you have to let it. I mean, could you Omni out and let the _Titanic_ sink? Or keep your mouth shut about Pearl Harbor if you were there the day before the attack? I sure couldn't, and they say he did both. The way I see it, any kid that age who can do the hard stuff deserves the title—and you really should be using it."

"That'll be the day," Tony snarled. "He's not even old enough to be a page yet."

"Doesn't matter," Billy said, gathering up his books. "He's got the title, and we're supposed to use it." With that, he slung his book-bag over his shoulder and left.

Irritated, Tony sat down and forced his mind onto his homework. Others began to trickle in, some settling down in the study hall, and others just passing through on their way to their rooms. The hall remained mostly quiet until Ray Swirski came in and announced, "Voyager Shelby won the adoption pool, and they're daring a new Voyager."

The latter announcement immediately claimed the eager attention of everyone present; even Tony momentarily forgot his resentful mood. The dares always made for a great deal of hilarity, as they usually took the form of pranks on teachers and other authority figures; not even the Elders were immune. An enterprising page could usually make a little extra pocket money by serving as a lookout while a rookie did whatever he'd been dared to do.

"What's the dare?" someone asked.

"They're letting the new kid take the Academy's final exam; Professor Parker just sent Voyager Shelby to ask Voyager Bogg's permission."

Tony slammed his book shut. "That tears it!" he exploded. "We have to wait until we're sixteen, and he gets to bypass the whole thing? Not on your life!"

"Not much you can do about it," one girl said.

"Like fun, there isn't."

"So what _are_ you gonna do?" someone else wanted to know.

"I don't know yet. I'll think of something."


	5. Chapter 4 Preparations

Chapter 4

Preparations

Two weeks passed before Jeffrey could get through a day without napping and could walk any kind of distance without too much pain. Instructed during his follow-up visit to start carefully pushing his limits, he now went to the dining hall with Bogg for meals—the older Voyager had been alternating between cooking meals in their small kitchen and bringing in take-out. The boy was glad of even that short excursion, as he was beginning to feel restless from the inactivity.

The cafeteria-style serving line was long, but it moved fairly quickly, so he wasn't on his feet long enough for the discomfort to become more than a moderate annoyance, though carrying his own tray was completely out of the question. The cafeteria staff was accustomed to injured Voyagers coming through; one look at the boy's stiff posture immediately brought one, seeming to materialize out of thin air, to take the tray to their table.

They were nearly through with their breakfast when a man with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail approached. "Hey, long time, no see," he grinned, and Bogg rose to greet him, simultaneously motioning Jeff to remain seated.

"Good to see you, Tim," he said. "Jeff, this is Tim Shelby; he was my guide when I first came here."

His round, full face made him look substantially younger than he really was—he was often taken for mid-twenties when he was actually pushing forty—and the effect was accentuated by Shelby's wicked grin. "And could I ever tell you some stories about this guy," he told Jeffrey with a broad wink.

"Don't bother; he's already heard them all," Bogg shrugged.

"Somehow, I doubt that," Shelby replied, fixing his former charge with a significant look.

Jeffrey came to his new dad's rescue. "You gotta be talking about the time some of the girls complained about his 'wenching,'" he said offhandedly.

The guide's jaw dropped. "You really _did _tell him!" he blurted.

"I'm not in the habit of hiding things from him," Bogg chuckled. "He knows what I was."

"And still are, in some ways," Jeffrey teased, unable to resist. "You gotta admit you left yourself wide open for that one, Bogg!" he laughed when the older Voyager mock-glared at him.

"Sounds like he keeps you on your toes, huh?"" Shelby said to Bogg as they sat down.

"Sometimes," Bogg agreed. "And I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm glad you came by," he went on, changing the subject. "We're going to be here for almost two months, and I was thinking of letting Jeff take some preliminary classes while we're here."

"Not a bad idea," Shelby said approvingly. "I'll talk to Mitchell and have him send somebody over later today with a placement test for him. That's Dave Mitchell, head of Orientation," he added. "Actually, though, I came here to talk to you, Phineas. Sorry, Jeff, but you're not supposed to hear this."

"That's okay," Jeffrey said, tossing back his last mouthful of juice as he got to his feet.

When he was gone, Bogg asked, "Okay, so what's on your mind, besides trying to embarrass me in front of my kid?"

"You know how the pools work around here, right?"

"Yeah; the bookie gives the winner some scut-job or other."

Shelby nodded. "The short straw. Parker sent me to ask your permission to issue a dare to Jeff."

"To _Jeff?"_ he repeated incredulously.

"You know it's customary to dare a new Voyager, and you guys didn't exactly hang around long enough after the tribunal made him one."

Bogg frowned. "Those dares can get the newbie in trouble if he draws the wrong target. Tim, I may not be at Headquarters often, but I'm not completely ignorant of what's been going on here. I'm well aware of how some people feel about the kid; trouble is the last thing he needs."

"No trouble," Shelby assured him. "Word of honor. Folks just want to see him do a solo. _Including_ the ones who don't approve of him; even they're not immune to curiosity. They want to know what's so exceptional about him that he's getting what they call special treatment."

Bogg whistled soundlessly at that; maybe there was hope for the political situation after all. Then he sighed. "He's not up to another assignment right now, solo or otherwise," he told Shelby. "He got pretty banged up on our last one; the doctor put him on limited activity."

"So I've heard."

"He's done solos before; we've been separated at least once that I can think of offhand, and he was only in the field three or four months at the time. Why don't they just broadcast that like they did with my trial?"

"We all know he's like a walking history book. The point of this one is to send him someplace _after_ his home time, see how he handles himself in completely unfamiliar surroundings."

"Hold it right there," Bogg protested. "We were trained for that; he isn't!"

"We're not going to send him out cold; you should know better than to think we would."

"Okay, so why don't you just give me all the details straight up."

"What we have in mind is to let him have a crack at the practical portion of the Academy's final exam. We'll give him one of the school Omnis. He'll never actually leave VHQ; it'll put him down in one of the holochambers, and we'll be watching the whole thing on the Omnitron. You've never told him about the holochambers, have you?"

"No; the subject never came up."

"Good; make sure you don't. You can tell him we'll be watching him, though."

"Tim, is this a good idea? _We_ didn't even know we were really in holochambers when we took that exam. When he finally does go to the Academy—"

"Not to worry; it's all been cleared. If he passes it now, he won't have to take it again. You just let me know when he's taken off medical restrictions, and we'll go from there."

"Okay. Now exactly how much of this can I tell him?"

It wasn't only the kitchen that had been fully stocked for them, Jeffrey had discovered that first day when he'd finally dragged himself to the smaller of the two bedrooms. Several changes of clothing had been provided, including one outfit like the threadbare and ill-fitting polo shirt and cords he'd been planning to replace while he was here—he'd long since ditched the Nikes he could no longer get his feet into.

The real treasure trove for him, however, had been the small collection of books on the shelves: some popular novels from his own time, as well as several of his favorite classics. He looked up from the leather-bound volume of _Hans Brinker_ he was reading when Bogg came in. "So what was the big secret he didn't want me to hear?" he asked.

"You really expect me to answer that?" Bogg teased him, then said, "You're being introduced to an old VHQ tradition: the dare." His interest piqued, Jeff set the book aside as Bogg went on, "When new Voyagers graduate, they're dared to do some bit of mischief before they're sent out."

"Sounds like fun," Jeffrey grinned.

"It is. Usually everybody gets a big laugh out of it, though there are one or two killjoys who always try to raise a protest about it."

"Bet they always get the worst pranks played on them, too."

"Don't they ever!" Bogg laughed. "When my class graduated, they made Olivia break into Professor Deschamps' office and dump all her files. When I came back at the end of my first year in the field, she was _still_ trying to find out which one of us did it and who issued the dare."

"But I haven't been to Voyager school."

"Apparently someone decided you qualify as our newest Voyager anyway. Your dare is a little different, though. They want you to do a solo mission."

"And you're letting me go?"

"You've worked alone before. I was even the one who sent you."

"Yeah, _once._ And it was that or let me burn to death.1 I know you; if you thought there was any chance this could get me in trouble, or hurt, or anything like that, you'd take those guys apart."

"I probably wouldn't go _that_ far, but you can bet I never would have agreed to it."

"But how can they guarantee I won't get hurt? We get banged up all the time."

"We're going to be watching you every step of the way on the Omnitron. If it looks like you're getting in over your head, you'll be snatched out of there faster than you could get to your Omni."

"What's the Omnitron?"

"It's a big screen they have in Mission Control that they can use to watch a mission in progress. They usually only do that when the system alerts them that something critical is going on. You'll find out more when you're up to a full tour; your guide'll be able to explain it a lot better than I can."

That guide turned out to be an elderly woman named Alicia DiLuca, who had been born and raised at VHQ and spent the bulk of her career in the field. Once she'd become too old for the rigors of fieldwork, but far from ready to retire completely, she'd taken a position in Orientation and asserted that she would probably die in harness.

Jeffrey had heard of people like that, who could not bear the thought of being put out to pasture, and he could see how Alicia would be one of them. She fairly bubbled with an energy level that belied her age and looked closer to sixty than to her actual eighty-three years.

It was a short walk to the Orientation section, well within his current foreshortened tolerance levels; once there, he was taken to an empty classroom, where a three-day battery of testing began.

Almost as soon as the boy left with Alicia, Bogg headed to the library to check out a history text for himself. He couldn't go on being so completely dependent on his Guidebook and Jeffrey's almost encyclopedic knowledge; as much as the kid enjoyed his role, there was also the scorn he exhibited when Bogg got some simple fact wrong, and that scorn was becoming more cutting as time went on. The former pirate knew his stuff well enough in most areas, but in the core element of their work, he was failing Jeff miserably, and the kid was starting to realize it. If he didn't want to lose control of him completely in the teen years which were looming ever closer, he would have to correct his own inadequacies, and quickly.

In the dining hall later that evening, they were just settling at a table when Carrie Franklin rose from the one next to them. After the usual pleasantries, she asked Bogg, "Have you told Jeffrey about his dare yet?"

"Yeah; he knows."

"Good. Jeffrey, I'll be getting you ready for your assignment."

"What's to get ready?" Jeffrey wanted to know. "Bogg's already taught me how to use the Omni and the Guidebook."

"This time you'll be using our new electronic Guidebook," she told him, holding up a device that was only a little larger than the telephone he'd seen her using the day they'd arrived. "And for that, you're going to need some computer training that I don't think your Orientation guide has planned yet."

It was at that point that Will arrived, tray in hand. "This isn't a private party, is it?" he asked.

"You know you're invited even if it is," Bogg told him, nodding toward an empty chair.

"Thanks. Carrie, I hear you've been elected to introduce Jeff here to computers."

"I'll be starting as soon as DiLuca has drawn up his study plan so I can work it into his schedule."

"Guard your ears, Jeff," Will playfully warned the boy.

"My ears?" he repeated, puzzled.

Franklin snorted. "I've been known to pull pages' ears when they get out of—_What_ was that, Voyager Bogg?" she cut herself off when Bogg muttered something she didn't quite hear, trying, and failing, to hide the grin that belied her stern tone.

"I said, and student Voyagers', too," he repeated with a wicked grin.

She shook her head, giving up trying to suppress her own amusement. "I can see what we're in for," she sighed dramatically. "Look out, VHQ; the terrors of the Academy have been reunited." With that, she walked off, leaving Bogg and Will laughing behind her.

"Were you guys really terrors?" Jeffrey wanted to know.

"Not exactly, but we _could_ tell you some stories that would curl your hair," Will told him.

Jeffrey snorted. "If it was any curlier, it'd be an Afro," he quipped, causing Will to start chuckling again.

Bogg only looked puzzled. "A what?" he asked.

"Never mind," Jeffrey sighed. "But Professor Franklin doesn't seem all _that_ bad."

"Tell our ears that," Will grinned.

"Hey, _you_ got off easy," Bogg teased. "She couldn't drag _you_ around by 'em, since you were still hobbling around on crutches."

Jeffrey snickered at the mental image of the diminutive woman leading the six-foot-plus Bogg by an ear and decided he would have to try it the next time Phineas got too caught up with some girl.

"Don't even think it, kid," came the warning.

"What?"

"Don't give me that innocent act; I know you too well."

"Bat's breath."

Will almost choked. "Don't tell me he's got you saying that, too!" he gasped when he could talk again.

"Well, I don't think he'd like it too much if I said something like _frak…_in English."

"Watch it, kid," Bogg chuckled. "I know what that means; it's pretty obvious, the way Will says it." Then he looked at his friend. "What's that other one?"

"You mean _felgercarb?"_

No; it's a shorter one. You used to say it in a kind of nasal-sounding voice."

That got Jeffrey laughing. "I bet he means _shazbot." _He couldn't quite manage to duplicate Robin Williams' comedic voice, but the tone was just recognizable enough to get a "thumbs up" from Will.

"Where do you two find these words?" Bogg demanded.

"On TV," Jeff told him. "Two different shows that came on when I was eight or nine."2

"So how come you know about them, coming from the next century, Will?"

"The miracle of technology, m'man," he replied expansively. "By my time, you could get DVDs of almost every TV show that ever ran. You remember those from Orientation, don't you, Phin?"

Burying his reddening face in one hand, he groaned, "Don't remind me."

Feeling a little sheepish now that the shoe was on the other foot, Jeffrey asked, "Uh…what's a DVD?"

Bogg wasn't a bit surprised by the results of Jeffrey's placement tests. Though it had been over a year since he'd last attended school, the boy hadn't lost any ground since then. Given his background, it was taken as given that he would exceed grade level in history, and he met that expectation easily.

There was some concern over whether he would be able to adapt to the teaching methods employed here. By Jeffrey's time, education had begun to focus more on self-esteem and less on actual learning, to the point that junior recruits from the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries often needed as much time to make the adjustment as people from much earlier eras did for the advanced technology.

They needn't have worried; Bill and Kathy Jones had worked hard to counter the influence of an inadequate school system, and their efforts had succeeded beyond their greatest hopes. For the first time in his life, Jeffrey found school a real challenge, and he thrived on it.

The older Voyager, motivated by a desire to surprise the kid with his improved historical knowledge as well as, to a lesser extent, a wish to avoid his wisecracks, kept his own efforts a closely guarded secret. He found himself acutely embarrassed when Jeffrey eventually caught him at it, but the boy surprised him yet again. Instead of the merciless teasing Bogg was expecting, Jeffrey took to reading with him, the two of them sitting side by side, then firing questions at each other at odd intervals and engaging in lively discussions and debates. Both of them treasured those hours of shared study, and Bogg suspected they did more bonding during that time than in the entire year they'd been together.

What no one had any way of knowing was that, elsewhere in the facility, more insidious preparations were being made.

1 _Voyagers!: _"Worlds Apart"

2 _Battlestar Galactica,_ and _Mork and Mindy._


	6. Chapter 5:  Missing in Action

Chapter 5  
>Missing in Action<p>

Oh, it couldn't be better, Tony chortled to himself when he saw his new department rotation. He'd drawn Mission Control, with its direct access to Temporal Engineering.

It had taken a while, but he had finally come up with a plan. It wasn't much of one, but it was better than nothing, which his pride simply would not allow after he'd declared his intent in front of the other kids. He wasn't quite so cheerful when he actually reported for duty, however: The door to TE was kept locked, with a keypad mounted on the wall next to it. That door didn't even have the decency to be in the back of the room where he might be able to slip through once he had found the code, but was in front, to the right of the Omnitron. There would be no opportunity to gain access from a room that was manned day and night.

He found similar locks on every entrance to TE he could find.

Tony was no stranger to theft. He'd come from Depression-era Chicago, oldest of seven children with a widowed mother in the days before welfare and Social Security. At first he'd had a job sweeping floors and stocking shelves at a grocery store, but the place had closed, and, like everyone else, he'd been unable to find work elsewhere. With the family's meager savings rapidly running out, he'd been forced to turn to other means. He'd become fairly adept at shoplifting and had quickly learned to pick pockets as well as locks. Since he'd been brought to VHQ, he'd watched movie characters break into the electronic and magnetic locks of later years; however, while he'd learned the theory, it required equipment that was simply not available outside of TE. It was a perfect Catch-22. (Stupid movie, in his opinion, but a very useful phrase.)

It figured, he groused to himself as he pondered ways he might manage to get in despite security measures. He'd counted his embryonic fowl a little too soon; he should have known that the very heart of VHQ would be protected by something more sophisticated than a lock he could pick. He was going to need help, and he knew just where to find it.

~oOo~

"Not just no, but _hell,_ no!" Ray blurted when Tony told him what he wanted. "You looking to get us both sent back where we came from? It's not worth it!"

"So what's it worth to you to keep the Council from finding out why Voyager Drake doesn't scan on the Locator?"

"You're blowing smoke," Ray sneered.

"No, I'm not. I _saw_ you doing it. Remember the day I showed up with those papers for Voyager Stavrou? You didn't minimize fast enough."

Ray ran a hand over suddenly tired eyes. Drake might be gone, but what the man had made him do was still hanging over his head and would continue to do so as long as Tony had anything to say about it.

A span of seventy years might have separated their respective time zones, but it hadn't prevented them from becoming close friends during their time in Orientation. The gulf that was opening between them now, however, had little to do with the cultural gap between the 1930s and the early 2000s. It was Ray's conclusion that his _former_ friend was a few bits short of a byte.

~oOo~

There was no shortage of activities to fill Jeffrey's days and speed the passage of time, but he and Bogg were both beginning to go stir-crazy by the time the boy was finally up to the promised tour. Though Bogg had originally planned on just him and Jeff, having a guide from Orientation could get them into places that he, alone, could not.

In Receiving, Jeffrey got to see for himself the Receiving Chambers, one of which had been Bogg's first sight upon arrival at VHQ, and he learned about the Leapgate, the transtemporal transporter that had brought him here and was also the means by which power was transmitted to the Omni. He remembered Bogg telling him that only a very small percentage of Voyagers came in that way; the vast majority were rescued from the very jaws of death by Voyagers sent after them, or were people who were insignificant to history, in which case a Voyager was sent to invite the individual to accompany him to Headquarters. In both the latter instances, they arrived in the open area in front of the monitor station in Receiving.

The technician on duty there showed him the display panel with its indicators that announced an impending arrival, as well as information about the recruit and his physical condition, so that a guide from Orientation could be called, and medical personnel if needed.

From there they went to the Mission Control Center, which was the only place other than Medical where the technology did not look like something out of HG Wells. In point of fact, it reminded Jeffrey of NASA's Mission Control, with six banks of terminals, and a large screen mounted on the front wall. That screen currently showed a bewildering array of red and green lights, each with a series of numbers.

The lead technician, a tall, lanky man with jet-black hair just beginning to go gray at the temples, and dark eyes behind thick, black-framed glasses, seemed to have no fixed station, but roamed about the room, his eyes darting from the large screen—the Omnitron—to the terminals as he passed them, to the remote Core link he carried. Alicia was moving to approach him when one of the technicians called him over; he stood looking over her shoulder for a moment, then punched a few buttons on his calculator-like handheld unit. A puzzled look crossed his face as he slapped the side of the device; it let out a squeal of protest, but apparently was no more informative, to judge from the frustrated, baleful look he gave it.

The man glanced over at the little group by the door and shook his head, at which Alicia ushered them out once more. "We'll have to come back later; they're a little busy right now," she said and led them on.

~oOo~

Will sat back from his desk, for once actually glad to have an incoming call interrupt his work. Some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed in the morning. "Control; Parker."

"Will, it's Howard. I've got something odd going on down here; can you link to terminal Mike-Charlie-fifteen?"

"Got it. What's the problem?"

"Take a look at event three-seven-Delta."

"Is there a reason there's nobody assigned to that red zone?"

"The system won't accept input, and all the Core will give me is a 'pending' signal."

Will entered a few commands on his own remote, got the same results, then tried entering his director's override code. A date and location appeared, and he spat a particularly foul oath. "Disregard it for now, Howie; the Core wants someone in particular on this one, and he's not available at the moment. I'll handle it from here; we've still got a pretty wide margin before it goes critical."

"Thanks. And one more thing: How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Howie?"

Will chuckled. "Take a chill-pill, Howie; I'll talk to you later." He broke the connection, then made a call of his own. "Ben, it's Will. We're going to have to step up the preparations a bit; the event just went red."

~oOo~

"So how come we didn't get to see the actual Leapgate?" Jeffrey wanted to know when the tour was done. The three of them were in the cafeteria eating dinner.

"Because it's part of the Core, and that's in TE," Alicia told him. "Only the people who work there are allowed in, except in peripheral areas like Receiving, Mission Control, and the reception area of the front office. You know about the Core?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah; Will told me about it. He said the Founder built it." Something else occurred to him then, and he went on, "Susan said something about the people who invented the Omni. Who were they?"

Alicia looked at Bogg. "You mean you haven't told him yet?"

Phineas shrugged. "The only time it ever came up, there wasn't time to explain it."

"When did it come up?" Jeffrey asked.

"In Persia, after the Karaunas captured us. Remember what that auctioneer said about the Omni?"

"Yeah; he said it was a talisman made by a tribe of sorcerers on some faraway island, and you said he was close."(1)

Alicia raised an eyebrow. "What time zone was that?"

"Thirteenth century," Bogg told her.

"That's actually uncannily accurate for that era." She looked back to Jeffrey. "If space is an ocean, a planet could be considered an island, couldn't it?"

"A planet?" Jeffrey repeated, then his eyes went wide. "You mean the Omni was invented by aliens?"

"Actually, _we're_ the aliens here," Alicia told him with a grin. "VHQ is on their world."

"You mean I'm on another planet right now? _Wow! _…But then, how does the Founder fit into it? I thought he was from Earth."

"He was. You see, the inventors were having trouble figuring out how to power the Omni. It uses so much power, no battery will do the job—at least, not one small enough to be portable. They were trying to figure out how to transmit power across time; the Founder gave them the answer. Because it was his work that made it possible, extraterrestrials may have invented the Omni, but a Terran is the Founder. You could call it an honorary title."

"What do the ETs look like?"

"As far as I know, no one's ever met one face to face. If anybody has, they're not talking."

~oOo~

Eventually, the day finally came when Jeffrey was cleared for field duty, and a day was set for his solo mission. The day before he was to go, Carrie Franklin took him and Bogg to a room next door to Mission Control, identical to it, but much smaller. There was only a single bank of computers, and the Omnitron was a fraction of the size of the one in Mission Control. Will was standing in front of it, an Omni in one hand and his Core link in the other.

"This is the Training Control Center, where we monitor student Voyagers on their assignments," Carrie explained.

The lights on this Omnitron were all blue, and Jeffrey asked, "What're all the lights?"

Will looked up from his remote. "I thought you got the nickel tour two weeks ago."

"I did, but I didn't really get to see Mission Control; they were too busy," the boy replied.

"It was the day our pet Event went red," Franklin added, then elaborated to Jeff, "It's extremely rare that we actually know a particular event is about to diverge from its true course; this one began to diverge the day you were in MC."

Jeffrey nodded as he remembered what had happened. "So what's the Omnitron showing?"

"Omnis, what else?" Will grinned.

"Will, you are totally incorrigible," Franklin rebuked him playfully.

"Ah, Carrie, you know you love it," Will shot back. "And don't bother pulling your 'Dragon Lady' act, either; it doesn't wash anymore," he added when she tried to tweak his ear.

She shook her head. "Wisecracks notwithstanding, each light does represent an Omni; these all belong to student Voyagers. The lights are blue because they're here at Headquarters." Jeffrey looked over her shoulder as she sat at a terminal; the screen showed fifteen blue lights. "Will, can you patch me into Phineas' field group?"

He made some entries on his remote, and the blue lights were replaced by several red lights, two green ones, and a single blue one.

"That blue one's us, isn't it?" Jeffrey asked.

"Yes, it is."

"What're the numbers?"

"This one is the serial number of Phineas' Omni, and this one is his Locator file code. If I click on the serial number, it shows me what his Omni's memory unit is recording right now." She did so, and the screen showed them in the Training Control Center; Bogg's name appeared in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. "If I do _this_…" She entered a command on the keyboard, and the image appeared on the Omnitron. "That's how we'll be watching you on your assignment tomorrow."

"What if you click on his Locator file code?"

"It'll tell me where he is." She did so, and the legend _Voyager Headquarters_ appeared where the code number had been.

"When Susan came after us in Texas, she made it sound like her Omni had a Locator unit,"(2) Bogg said questioningly.

"She has a three-sixteen-fifty, doesn't she? Some of those do have one; earlier models don't. Will, you got that Omni programmed in yet?"

"Just finished; coming up on your screen now," he replied, and the display on her screen switched back to its original display. One of the lights was highlighted, indicating that it was a new addition. Its serial number, 64329, yielded the same image of them in TCC, this time with Jeffrey's name on the screen, and the Locator file code showed that he was at VHQ. "And that's all I brought you here for," she concluded, "to get your Omni programmed into the system and to make sure it was tracking properly. Everything's set; all you need to do is show up here tomorrow morning with that Guidebook I gave you. I'll actually give you the Omni then."

~oOo~

It was late, and few people were abroad. There was an outside chance that someone might catch Tony wandering where he shouldn't be, but unless that someone were an ultra-suspicious sort and made him turn out his pockets, they wouldn't know what he was carrying.

This was actually the easy part; it was the first stage of his plan that had been tricky. Armed with the necessary passcodes and the location of the Omni storage area, he'd had to break into TE, make his way unseen to that area, lift an unassigned unit, and get out again, all through a fully-manned department. Somehow, he'd managed it.

He grinned evilly to himself. They'd get a bad shock when they tried to track _Jeffrey Jones Bogg_ tomorrow—he couldn't even think the name without a sneer. Oh, they'd find him eventually, he knew; they seemed to have a way around every glitch the time stream could throw at them. The pity of it was that the kid himself wouldn't know until he returned and was told about it.

Once Tony got into the Academy area of the vast underground complex that was VHQ, the chances of another person being there to see him at this hour fell to zero. When he found Professor Franklin's office, the skeleton key in his pocket—a leftover from his pre-recruitment time—made short work of the simple lock on the door. He found the kid's Omni on the desk in the inner office. There were definite advantages to being stuck in an embarrassingly honest society when you were anything but, he chortled to himself as he did what he had come to do. Too bad he would be in school tomorrow when the kid left; he would have loved to see the looks on everyone's faces.

~oOo~

Will and Carrie were waiting for them when they arrived the next morning; Jeffrey's mouth went dry at the sight of the Omni on the table, his very own Omni, even if it was only for the duration of this assignment.

"Nervous?" Bogg asked quietly.

"A little," Jeffrey admitted.

"So was I, my first time."

Will snorted. "Ain't _that_ the truth! Jeff, I'll have you know he's the original Voyager Fumblethumbs; the only one in our class to drop his Omni."

"But this isn't my first time," Jeffrey protested. "I've even been alone before."

Bogg smiled at him. "So that means you have nothing to prove, right?"

Once again, he'd managed to find just the right thing to say; the boy's butterflies immediately settled down. "Yeah," he replied, his usual confidence back.

Carrie handed him the Omni and a small canvas roll. "This is a basic toolkit for Omni maintenance," she told him. "You shouldn't need it, but it's standard procedure to carry one."

He nodded, having seen the one Bogg carried.

"There's one thing different from your usual assignments," Carrie went on. "Remember to talk to us whenever you can. We won't be able to answer you, but your commentary is important for the evaluation." She smiled at him when his eyes widened just a little. "It's only a dare, Jeffrey," she reminded him. "Completely unofficial. Whatever the outcome, it will make absolutely no difference to your status. The only reason for the evaluation is so Will can determine the winner of the pool."

"You mean they're betting on me?"

"They bet on _every_ dare," Bogg snorted.

"So how much have you got riding on this one?" Jeffrey asked knowingly.

"I'm not telling you," Bogg grinned. "Maybe..._maybe _when you get back, but not now."

"Oh, you'll tell me," Jeffrey grinned back as he clipped the Omni and the Guidebook to his belt.

"Any time you're ready, then," Carrie said.

Jeffrey's eyes met Bogg's for a moment, and they nodded to each other. Phineas' heart lurched as his young partner—his _son—_vanished from sight.

Carrie and Will waited silently for the readouts to start coming in; then, suddenly, Will's fingers were frantically stabbing buttons on his remote, and Carrie was sliding the mouse rapidly on its pad; then she went for her keyboard and started entering commands at lightning speed.

"Status?" Will said tersely.

"No Omni readout. One second it was there, and then it was gone."

"Confirm serial number six-four-three-two-niner."

"Affirmative; number confirms. Locator scan negative."

Will checked his remote again. _"Frak!"_ he spat. "Carrie, the data file's gone!"

_"What?"_

"Stand by." He entered a few more commands on his remote and waited. Neither of them noticed Garth's entrance.

"I take it I missed him?" he murmured as he took a seat next to Bogg.

"He just left," came the reply.

Will turned to Carrie, his face pale. "Database Maintenance confirms file deletion," he said.

"Ohmigod," Franklin breathed, then they sprang into action once more.

"What's happening?" Bogg demanded, his eyes darting from the still-blank Omnitron to the frenetic activity of the two technicians.

Carrie turned stricken eyes to him. "We…we've lost him."

1 _Voyagers!: _"The Travels of Marco…And Friends"

2 _Voyagers!: _"The Trial of Phineas Bogg"


	7. Chapter 6:  Quantum Effect

**Chapter 6  
><strong>**Quantum Effect**

The words sent Bogg's heart rocketing into his throat, and he started to rise, but was restrained by Garth's hand on his arm. "They'll find him," the Chief Elder assured him.

"How, without that file?" Bogg demanded.

"Remember, he's somewhere down in the simulators, not lost in the timestream. If they have to check each and every holochamber, they'll find him."

The reminder quieted his nerves somewhat, even as he watched Will murmuring into the whisker-mike of his headset. A moment later, profound relief settled over the former Marine's features, and he said, "Just for that, I'm swearing off calling you Howie! Thanks, Miller; I owe you. Carrie, new Omni serial number: Kilo-Golf-seven-one-five, on live channel."

"Copy Kilo-Golf-seven-one-five on live channel. I have a lock."

At the front of the room, the screen came to life at last, showing a dimly lit alley, where Jeffrey was checking his Guidebook. His face was eerily highlighted by the screen's backlighting. "It's July 16, 1960," he was saying. "The only event listed is the test-firing of the first ballistic missile, but that was in the Atlantic Missile Test Range, and I'm in Minneapolis."

"I thought you were going to give him something after 1982," Bogg said.

Will looked up from his remote, consternation showing on his face. "Somebody switched Omnis on him," he reported. "The one we assigned him had an entirely different serial number, and its auto-mode randomizer was preset to holochamber sixteen. What he's got now is a field Omni; he's on a real assignment. And to make matters worse, our pet event just went critical."

"Is this connected?" Garth wanted to know.

"Unknown, but probable," Will replied.

Garth turned to Bogg. "It's your call, Phineas," he said.

Every nerve he owned was screaming _Get him back here!_ It took his last ounce of control to swallow the words and think it through. Whatever this "pet event" of theirs was, it very well might be something the kid was supposed to do, and, judging from the thinly veiled excitement on both Will's and Garth's faces, it was something far more important than the usual historical fix. "Let him try," he said at last. Sometimes a Voyager had to bite the bullet—and so did a Voyager's dad.

"You heard the man, William," Garth said, smiling now.

"Yes, sir," Will replied, flashing a grin and a thumbs-up at his friend.

_**Minneapolis, Minnesota; July 16, 1960**_

Jeffrey closed the Guidebook and replaced it and the Omni on his belt, then got up and started to look around as he picked his way through the trash that had overflowed the barrels. Against one wall, a middle-aged man was sleeping, wrapped up in newspapers. He wrinkled his nose; the man obviously hadn't had a bath in quite some time, and, to top it off, he positively reeked of alcohol. He started to walk past him, then paused. The Omni had a habit of dropping them where they needed to be.

The man groaned and grabbed his head, then lurched to his feet and staggered down the alley toward the street, oblivious to the boy following him.

Jeffrey had no idea of the time, but it must be late at night; all the tenement windows were dark, and the street was empty of pedestrians and vehicular traffic, except for a single truck rumbling up the street, its stack belching thick black diesel exhaust. The probable reason for the red light became evident as the drunk, never slowing his pace, approached the curb. "Hey, mister, look out!" Jeffrey cried. He broke into a run and darted in front of him, hoping either to stop him, or even to trip him, anything to keep him from walking in front of that truck.

The man snarled incoherently and swept him out of the way; Jeffrey stumbled backward and fell, and he could only watch helplessly as the man met his end. He got to his feet and darted over to check his pulse as he lay there, but he needn't have bothered; with the amount of blood rapidly spreading in the street under the twisted body, it was clear he was dead even before Jeff noted the absence of pulse. He spared a glance toward the truck and could just make out the form of the trucker talking urgently into a microphone, probably calling for help; while he was thus occupied, Jeffrey approached the fallen man and started going through his pockets. He had to know who he was. He'd just found the wallet when the driver got out of the truck, shouting at him, obviously thinking he was trying to rob the victim; after a quick glance inside, Jeffrey tossed the wallet down and Omni'ed out.

_**Cambridge, Massachusetts, September 13, 1967**_

"Hey, are you all right? That was one heck of a fall!" a voice said, and Jeffrey looked up to see a young teen extending a hand to help him up.

"I'm okay," he answered, accepting the assistance. He noticed the other boy gazing at the items riding on his belt and tugged his shirt down to cover them.

"Sam Beckett," the older boy introduced himself.

"Jeffrey Bogg." It still sent a thrill through him.

"Are you taking classes here too?"

Jeff looked around and realized he was on a college campus. "Are you kidding?! I'm only twelve!"

Sam shrugged; did he look a little disappointed? "I'm just fifteen," he pointed out, "and there's a kid your age in one of the CUNY (1) colleges." He glanced at his watch. "Oh, hey, I gotta go; my class starts in five minutes. See ya." With that, he took off at a jog.

Jeffrey found a secluded area behind one of the buildings and settled to the ground, where he checked the Omni. It was green.

Thinking for a moment to recall the name he'd briefly seen on the card in the dead man's wallet, he entered it on the Guidebook's keypad.

_**Voyager Headquarters, Training Control Center**_

They watched as Jeff perused his Guidebook, then looked up, a look of intense concentration on his face. "This is weird," he muttered. "That guy that just got killed, his name's Frank MacKenzie; the Guidebook just lists him as a civilian, but he wasn't supposed to die for another twenty-seven years. That means that somebody was supposed to save him back there, but wasn't around to do it, and _that_ guy's probably the important one, but I've got no idea who, or how to find out. The only clue I've got is that the Omni dropped me in front of that other kid just now, but this is seven years _after_ MacKenzie." He shrugged. "I guess I might as well just follow the lead I've got," he said with a resigned sigh.

Will whistled. "Remember your question a few minutes ago, Professor? The answer just went from 'probable' to 'definite.'"

Jeffrey's voice drew their attention once more. "It says here that Dr. Sam Beckett's seventh PhD was in quantum physics, and get this: His dissertation was on _time travel!_ He and another guy started something called Project Quantum Leapin 1995, but then the government threatened to cut off their funding, so Dr. Beckett used a 'quantum accelerator,' whatever that is, and disappeared. He was never found. It was never revealed what the purpose of the Project was, but I bet he was trying to travel through time. I think he succeeded, and that's why they never found him!" He was talking faster now. "And that means _he's_ the one who was supposed to rescue Mr. MacKenzie!"

Will came over to Bogg. "We're likely to lose track of him for a while, Phin," he said softly. "Uhmmm..." He looked at Garth, an eyebrow raised, and the professor nodded. "Okay. Before I go any further, what I'm about to tell you is classified. Not to leave this room." When Bogg nodded, Will went on, "The reason we're likely to lose track of him is something called 'quantum effect,' which is the particular kind of interference a quantum accelerator—or its nimbus—causes in close proximity to an Omni."

What in the world _was_ a 'quantum accelerator,' anyway? "Because they're similar in function?" Bogg guessed.

"That's only part of it. Y'see, the accelerator is a primitive form of the system that powers our Omnis. Or, to put it more accurately, it's the _ancestor_ of that system."

Bogg felt the color drain from his face as the significance registered. "Are you telling me that Sam Beckett is the _Founder?!" _he blurted.

Will nodded. "That kid of yours has our very existence in his hands right now—not to mention his own. And from what I've seen so far," he grinned now, "he'll figure it out when his Omni starts going wonky on him."

_**Stallion's Gate, New Mexico; May 5, 1995**_

He landed in a room holding a supercomputer that dwarfed the Cray at his father's university. Alarms began blaring while he was still falling; upon landing, he immediately began looking for a place to hide. The short man at the console was too quick, however, shooting out of his chair to grab his arm. "How'd you get in here?" he demanded in a high tenor, blasting the boy with a wave of bad breath that nearly turned his stomach.

Before Jeffrey could even begin to answer, a door opened and another man came in, this one tall and slender, with brown hair and green eyes, wearing what appeared to be a set of longjohns, and the boy recognized him as the grown-up version of the teenager he'd met just a little while ago. "What happened, Gooshie?" Sam Beckett asked in a voice that didn't seem to have changed much since he'd been fifteen.

_Gooshie?_ Jeffrey thought incredulously. _Boy, and I thought _Bogg's_ name was weird!_

The shorter man pulled Jeffrey forward. "We have an intruder," he said simply.

"How'd he get in here?"

"Damned if I know; I could swear he just fell through the ceiling. And get this," Gooshie went on, holding up a hand to forestall the imminent protest. "Just before he did, Ziggy started going nuts; I mean, the readouts were all over the map!"

Sam's eyebrows tried to merge with his hairline. "So I didn't imagine it."

Gooshie released Jeffrey's arm and picked up a remote that made the boy's jaw drop. It was identical to the one Will Parker used at Mission Control! With both men momentarily occupied with whatever Gooshie was doing, Jeffrey opened the Omni. The lights were flashing back and forth, and, worse, the globe was gyrating madly.

The alarms went off again. "There it goes again!" Gooshie cried; if anything, his fingers flew faster on the keypad.

Jeffrey immediately snapped the Omni shut. It didn't take a genius to figure out that, somehow, the Omni and the equipment in here were affecting each other, he thought as he clipped the device to his belt once more.

Sam apparently heard the soft "click" of the lid, however, for he turned and looked at Jeffrey suspiciously. "What did you just do?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" Jeffrey protested, with all the innocence he could muster.

"What's your name?" Sam asked next, his tone making Jeffrey a little nervous. Was it possible he had identified him as the boy he'd met on the college campus?

"Jeffrey Bogg."

Gooshie did something else with his remote, then shook his head. "There are only three or four people with that name in the database, and he's either too old or too young to be any of them."

But Sam was regarding the boy thoughtfully. "Adopted?" he asked.

Jeffrey nodded.

"What's your birth name, then?"

"Jeffrey Jones."

"I'm gonna need more than that," Gooshie said. "That's got to be one of the most common names in the book! I suppose I ought to be grateful your first name isn't John."

"You heard him," Sam said. "Birth date, place, _and_ your parents' names. And your address, too, just for extra confirmation."

Jeffrey balked for a moment. That was information no Voyager was supposed to divulge to historical figures, unless it was necessary to complete the mission. Deciding that it was indeed necessary, he reluctantly told them.

Gooshie nearly dropped his remote. _"1970?!"_ he repeated the year attached to Jeffrey's birth date. "That's impossible; you'd have to be twenty-five years old by now!"

Sam looked thoughtful for a long moment, gazing at the boy before him. "I _know _you," he said, puzzled. That face, the name, the objects on his belt—Hell, even the _clothes _were familiar. Then another image flashed before his mind's eye, the boy's face on a television screen, and he experienced a wave of something akin to _déjà vu _as he tried without success to recall where he'd seen that face before. It was the first time his photographic memory had failed him, and that puzzled him even further.

"Dr. Beckett?" Gooshie's voice brought him back to the present.

"Run what he gave you," Sam instructed.

With a shrug, Gooshie complied, then stared incredulously at what he saw. He looked from the face on the handlink's screen to the young intruder and back, then turned flabbergasted eyes to Sam. "You're probably not going to believe this, but he's the kid that disappeared in 1982 in New York City, the one that apparently fell out his window, but no body was ever found. Made every headline in the nation."

Sam nodded; that was when he'd seen the boy's picture on TV. So Jeffrey had somehow come from 1982 to 1995 without aging—with a stop in 1967 between, he realized, remembering at last where he'd seen him before. His memory hadn't failed him; it had simply refused to accept the possibility after so many years. "You're the kid I met at MIT," he said. "You fell...I never was able to figure out where from; it seemed like you dropped right out of the sky..." His voice softened to little more than a murmur; it sounded more as if he were muttering to himself now. "And Gooshie says you came through the ceiling..." With a speed that made Bogg look like a snail, he snatched the Omni from Jeffrey's belt. Noting the peculiar markings on the lid (2), he opened it.

Gooshie silenced the alarm on the first blat. "Sam, it's..."

"I know. And I think I know why."

Jeffrey's heart sank as Sam examined the object in his hand. He was going to know what it was he was holding.

It had a very strong resemblance to the device in the old movie based on Wells' _The Time Machine._ The title struck Sam with hurricane force, and his eyes snapped back to Jeffrey. "You're a time traveler." It wasn't a question. "This...device, it's how you travel, and it and my accelerator are interfering with each other." He closed it and handed it back to the boy, a joyous look in his eyes that was almost manic. "They _would_ have to threaten my funding right now. Gooshie, fire up the accelerator!"

"Dr. Beckett, are you sure? Ziggy says..."

"Don't you get it? He's a _time traveler,_ Gooshie! And it's my guess he's here to make sure I Leap. Now _f__ire it up!" _He turned to Jeffrey. "Whatever you do, _don't_ open that thing until I'm done; Gooshie'll tell you when it's safe." He grinned. "I think you're going to find the light settles on green when it's all over."

An utterly shocked look crossed the boy's face as he made the connection. "You're...the Omni..._Smokin' bat's breath!"_

"Yes, I'm going to Leap; that _is _why you came here, isn't it?" Sam asked with another grin. With that, he went back into the inner room.

Jeffrey watched through the glass. The room beyond was circular, medium-dark blue in color—floor, ceiling, and walls. It was devoid of furniture; in the center, there was a light-blue pad on the floor. Halfway up the wall was some sort of light-blue ring—and then he was blinded by an incredibly bright light. There was a roaring that nearly deafened him; above it, he could hear Gooshie shouting, as if answering a phone, "Control!"

_"Yeah; what's happening, Gooshie?"_ a gravelly voice came over a speaker, barely audible above the noise.

"He's Leaping! Ziggy said no, but Sam's Leaping!"

_"He can't Leap; we're not ready,"_ the gravelly voice said in consternation.

"Tell Sam that!"

_"Put him on."_

"I can't; he's in the accelerator!" Silence greeted this announcement. "Al!" Gooshie cried. _"Al!_ What do I do?"

_"Nothing,"_ came Al's answer. _"Any interference will kill him. I'll be there in…two minutes."_

Squinting through the glare, Jeffrey could barely make out Sam standing on that pad, legs apart, arms straight out from his sides. Then he raised them over his head, looking up at the ceiling, a look of utter joy on his face. (3) A brilliant flash obscured all vision for a moment; then the light and the roaring died, and a stranger lay on the pad. (4)

Gooshie got to his feet. "Okay, it's safe now. You better get out of here before Al gets here; you _really_ don't want to run into him right now." With that, he threw open the door to the accelerator and rushed inside.

_**Voyager Headquarters, Training Control Center**_

A blinding nimbus of blue light glared from the Omnitron before the screen went blank for a moment, then came back online to show Jeffrey firmly in the grip of a man who couldn't have been much more than five and a half feet tall, with short, curly red hair and a moustache. Then a second man came into view, and Will and Garth both stared as if transfixed.

For three long minutes they watched events unfold, with the screen blanking out every time the Omni was opened. Phineas couldn't help grinning when Jeffrey made the connection; Will had been right about that.

Then the nimbus appeared again, and the screen went blank once more. Four more minutes passed with agonizing slowness; then, like an old vacuum tube warming up, the image began to fade back in. Jeffrey was staring straight ahead, a look on his face as if he couldn't decide whether to be excited or scared.

"Okay, it's safe now," the short man said to him. "You better get out of here before Al gets here; you _really_ don't want to run into him right now." With that, he got up, threw open a door to another room, and rushed inside.

The boy's expression settled on pure wonder. "I just met the Founder, didn't I?" he whispered to the air. His hands shook as he opened the Omni; at the single chime, all of them, even Professor Garth, started cheering.

But he wasn't done yet.

_**Minneapolis, Minnesota; July 16, 1960**_

He landed in the same alley; he guessed it was mere minutes after he had left. He could hear the rumble of that fateful truck fading in the distance, the lingering acrid stench of its exhaust the only remnant of its passing. Of its victim, there was no sign, but there was Sam Beckett, still in the clothes he had been wearing when Jeffrey had last seen him. The man was doing a flawless pantomime of checking nonexistent pockets; he then inspected his empty hands as if they held something. As he turned to regard his reflection in a grimy window, Jeff approached him. "Dr. Beckett?" he asked hesitantly.

Sam whirled. "You can see me?" he demanded. _"Me,_ not this…" he looked at his hands again, "…Frank MacKenzie?" He indicated the window.

Jeffrey glanced at the reflection, then gaped at it. The reflection showed the man Jeffrey had seen killed earlier, in the same rumpled, threadbare suit, disheveled hair, and unkempt beard, holding a battered wallet in his hands. "How?" he blurted. "That's him in the glass, but when I look at you, I just see…well, _you."_

"And you know me?"

"Don't you remember? I'm the time traveler that landed in your control room just before you Leaped for the first time."

Sam thought a moment, then shook his head and said apologetically. "Leaping plays hob with my memory. Did you Leap with me?—No," he answered his own question, his face clearing as fragments of that night returned. "You came to PQL to make sure _I_ did. And now you're checking up on me, aren't you?" he added with a grin.

"Sort of," Jeffrey admitted. "But how come your reflection doesn't show you?"

"It's a sort of aura," Sam told him. "Everybody here will see me as MacKenzie. I'll even sound like him to them. I'm not sure why you can see me as I really am."

"You said your accelerator and my Omni were interfering with each other," Jeffrey reminded him. "Maybe that has something to do with it?"

Sam thought about that for a moment; he recalled the watch-like device with its flashing lights and gyrating globe. "Yeah, maybe," he finally said. "Did it settle on green after I left?"

"Yeah, it did," Jeffrey grinned, then opened it now, only to find it doing the same mad dance it had done before.

"I think you'll have to move away from me for that to work," Sam said. "You're getting interference from that aura I mentioned."

Jeffrey backed away until the Omni settled down once more. "Green light," he announced, grinning; Sam, smiling himself, nodded his acknowledgment. "I guess I better get going. So long, Dr. Beckett; it was nice meeting you. Good luck," he said, and vanished.

_**Voyager Headquarters; Training Control Center**_

The Omnitron showed Jeffrey landing in the alley, and they all saw Dr. Beckett doing what seemed to be some kind of pantomime. As Jeff approached him, the image was gradually overshadowed by a blue light that increased in intensity until the screen went blank.

"Now what?" Bogg wanted to know.

"Quantum effect again," Will said. "The accelerator's nimbus surrounds Sam, the same way the chronofield does us, and they interfere with each other." Two minutes later, the image faded back in just as Jeffrey wished Sam luck; then it abruptly went blank again, just before the boy returned, landing in front of the Omnitron.

He was still shaking as he got to his feet. "Did I just do what I think I did?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

It was Will who answered, "That depends on what it is you think you did."

"I…I _think_ I just saved every Voyager that ever was," he replied, a little hesitant to voice such a claim.

"Young man, that's exactly what you did," a beaming Garth told him.

Jeffrey turned, startled to see him there. "You saw it? The whole thing?"

"Most of it. The Founder's equipment caused some interference, so there were a few places where the screen went blank for a bit." Beckoning everyone to follow him, he led the way through a door in the back of the room that Jeff hadn't noticed before. The room beyond was a small auditorium, with seats for about forty people. In the front of the room was an Omni memory-reader, its holoframe a little larger than the one in the courtroom.

Bogg grinned at the sight of the room. "This is where they critique students' training assignments," he told Jeffrey.

"I rather thought you'd remember this room, Phineas," Garth smiled as he placed Jeff's Omni in the reader's receptacle. To Jeffrey, he explained, "Like most of our computer equipment, the memory readers are connected with the Core."

"So that's how it knew what to show during the trial," Jeffrey remarked.

"Yes. During a normal critique session, this one simply begins with the first incident meriting comment or discussion—which can be positive as well as negative. When an assignment is being graded, each incident is judged in light of events both leading up to it and flowing from it. For example, Frank MacKenzie's death. On the one hand, under one set of circumstances, a student might lose points for that one, perhaps only a few, or it could be enough for a failing grade on the entire assignment." He looked appraisingly at both of them, then asked Jeffrey, "Can you tell me why?"

Bogg suddenly felt a little apprehensive as he realized that it was his training of the kid that was being evaluated at the moment, as well as the boy's own performance.

Apparently the incident had been bothering Jeffrey enough that he had been thinking it over during the rest of the assignment, for there was no hesitation in his answer. "I should've remembered my limitations," he said, his tone a little subdued. "I probably should've tried to flag down the truck instead of trying to stop MacKenzie."

"Exactly. However, in this case, the man's death was the _result_ of the divergence, rather than the cause of it. It led you to find the real reason for the red light.

Jeffrey's face brightened. "Like the fact that Cuba was losing the Revolution wasn't the real reason for the red light, but the fact that Teddy Roosevelt had been killed earlier by Billy the Kid." (5)

"Yes. So in your mission today, you lose no points for what happened in Minneapolis."

"Points?!" Jeffrey burst out suddenly. "Professor, a man _died!"_

"Easy, son," Garth soothed, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "That timeline no longer exists, remember? Mr. MacKenzie did _not_ die after all, and _you're _the one who saved him."

Reining in his reaction with a visible effort, he nodded.

With a final pat, Garth released him and continued, "Now let's move on to your arrival at the Founder's project headquarters."

The memory reader obligingly showed a blue screen that quickly resolved to show Gooshie holding Jeffrey by the arm.

"Am I correct in assuming that it was merely your arrival that caused that blackout?" Garth asked.

"That's the only thing that happened there right before this. I could hear the alarms going off while I was just coming through the time portal. I tried to find someplace to hide, but there wasn't any; even if there had been, I don't think I would've made it. That guy was too fast."

They watched as Gooshie entered commands on his remote, with Sam looking over his shoulder; as they followed the events; Jeffrey's gaze strayed momentarily toward Will, who simply held up his own remote and nodded.

The screen went blank again momentarily, and Garth asked, "What happened here?"

"I tried to check the Omni to see where I was, but as soon as I opened it, their alarms started going off, so I closed it right away. It was pretty obvious the Omni was messing up their equipment."

Now the screen showed Sam looking at Jeffrey and asking his name, and Garth frowned as he watched the boy identifying himself.

It was Will who forestalled any comment from him. "Professor, hold off on anything you have to say about this, please," he said. "Just wait a few minutes, and I think you'll understand. Remember the pictures I showed you."

Garth didn't have long to wait; his jaw dropped when Sam snatched the Omni and gazed at it, Jeffrey looking apprehensively at him, precisely the image he had seen on the screen of Will's Core link two months ago. How had he missed that?

Jeffrey looked at the scene himself and finally asked the question that had been bothering him since he'd met the man. "Why is he standing there in his underwear?"

Will couldn't help laughing; it _did_ look like underwear to someone who didn't know what it really was. "It's not underwear," he explained. "It's called a Fermi suit."

"After Enrico Fermi?"

"Yes. A lot of things in physics are named after him."

"What's the suit for?"

"Well, that's a little more complicated. Do you know what a particle accelerator is?"

"Sort of. It does something to atomic particles. Makes them move faster."

"A _lot_ faster than they normally do," Will told him. "They actually get close to the speed of light in one of those things. When subatomic particles move that fast, there's radiation; it can be anything from radio waves, which can cause simple burns, to gamma rays, which can kill you, or a combination of several types. Now when he was inside that accelerator, he was surrounded by a ring of particles moving in a circle around him. While the radiation they emitted was directed toward the outside of the ring by the tremendous centrifugal force, there was a concern that there might be some leakage toward the center. The suit was designed to protect him from that leakage. But because it would only be minimal, if any, it didn't have to be a full radiation suit."(6)

Jeffrey nodded in understanding.

Garth, having regained his composure, asked him, "I take it you know a Voyager is not supposed to give identification information as you did?"

"Except when you have to, in order to complete the mission," the boy answered, his tone this time that of one who knew he was on solid ground. "The way he asked me who I was, I figured he remembered meeting me in 1967. Once he knew I wasn't even born until 1970, I guessed he'd realize I was a time traveler and figure it was his first Leap that made it possible, so he'd go ahead with it the way he was supposed to."

"I certainly can't fault that reasoning," Garth responded a little breathlessly. "Are you _sure_ you're only twelve?" he added with a grin, and Jeffrey reddened a little at the praise and smiled shyly in return. "Now we're missing nearly the entire encounter when you returned to Minneapolis," the old professor went on. "Go ahead and tell us what happened there."

Jeffrey did so; Carrie was amazed when the image faded back in. "The Omni recorded his true appearance," she noted as they beheld Sam Beckett where Frank MacKenzie should have been.

"Quantum effect," Will summed up the reason. "Our chronofield is similar enough to the aura his accelerator projects that the Omni reacts as if it's caught in the actual nimbus."

"Yeah; both lights were flashing, and the globe wouldn't stop moving, until I got farther away from him," Jeffrey added.

"Okay, so don't keep us waiting, Prof," Will prodded. "How'd he do?"

"I can't find any reason to deduct points," Garth finally said after a long silence. "Congratulations, young Voyager Bogg; you've earned a perfect score."

"Hah!" Will whooped. "Phin, you called it! The pool's all yours!"

"You bet I'd ace it?" Jeffrey demanded.

"Of course!" Bogg laughed. "What else would you do?"

"And oh, _boy,_ I'm gonna have to find a _really_ short straw for you!" Will added.

"If all of you will excuse me," Garth cut in, "I wasn't finished."

The little group turned to look at him.

"Jeffrey, because of your score today, when you eventually do come to the Academy, the practical portion of the final exam will be waived."

"Wow! Didja hear that?" the boy whooped. Then, "So I will have to go?"

"Kid, I've told you before: There just isn't time in the field for me to teach you everything you need to know," Bogg told him.

"Oh, and you just wait until I get you in Temporal Math 101," Carrie put in with a wicked grin.

"Don't be too eager, Dragon Lady," Bogg teased. "He'll be ready."

Jeffrey looked at him. "You're good at math?"

Will barked out a laugh. "I think it's the _only_ classroom subject he was good at."

"I guess Susan wasn't in that class, then, was she?" the boy asked with a sly look, and everyone got a good laugh when Bogg went red.

"Actually, she was," the former pirate admitted, and shrugged. "But I _liked_ math. After all, you can't be a navigator without knowing how to figure."

"You were a navigator?"

"Sure was. _And_ I was elected quartermaster on my last ship."

That announcement took even Will by surprise. "No way," he said.

"Hey, you've got Archive access," Bogg grinned at him. "Look it up."

(1) City University of New York, a system of colleges which, until the mid-1970s, were free to residents of the city. The prodigy mentioned here attended the branch called City College of New York when my older brother was there. Unfortunately, I no longer remember the kid's name.

(2) Not having been through either the Leapgate or an Omni's chronofield, he wouldn't be able to read the Omni's markings or the Guidebook.

(3) Scene adapted from _Quantum Leap: _"Genesis," Part 1.

(4) In the aforementioned episode, Al said that, to those back at PQL, the host looked like Sam. Why Jeff sees a stranger instead is explained later.

(5) _Voyagers!:_ "Billy and Bully"

(6) I couldn't find any information on what QL canon said the Fermi suit was for; this seemed as good an explanation as any. ;D


	8. Chapter 7: Links

Chapter 7

Links

When the last round of laughter had died down, Garth turned to Bogg and Jeff once more. "I take it I don't need to remind you to keep to yourselves the things you've learned today."

"What do I say if somebody wants to know what happened?" Jeffrey asked.

"You can tell them that the assignment involved the Founder, but no more than that. No one will press you for details; if anyone does, make sure you report it at once." At Jeffrey's nod, he smiled and said, "If there's nothing else, then, I think we're through here." So saying, he took his leave, and Will followed him out of the room as Carrie retrieved the Omni and Guidebook from Jeffrey.

"That was quite an accomplishment for anybody, never mind a kid; don't you think we should acknowledge it somehow?" Will said.

"Under any other circumstances, I would, but I'm not so sure it's a good idea, given the classified nature of the thing," Garth replied.

"Come on. Everyone knows that the Founder's research and the resultant technology fit into the overall scheme, even if only a handful of us know exactly how, or who he actually is," Will pointed out. "Miller probably kept half an eye on the assignment after he found Jeff for us, and you know he's going to tell the rest of his staff. Word's going to spread from there, and when it does…" He trailed off with a suggestive shrug.

People _were _going to want to meet the boy who had aced the final exam many of them had sweat bullets over, Garth knew, but that sort of attention could swell the heads of even the ones who didn't seem to know what an ego was.

Seeing the Chief Elder beginning to waver, Will added, "He's only twelve, Professor; a kid that age can only carry the 'unsung hero' bit so far. Even most adults have trouble with it after a while."

Garth pondered that for a long moment; there was indisputable truth in the physicist's words. Voyagers like Isaac Wolfstein, who had remained in the field until he was old enough to retire, were actually a rarity; most lasted only eight to ten years before either taking up a second career at Headquarters or resigning altogether. Jeffrey would already have half that time under his belt before he even started at the Academy. He supposed that, in this case, allowing the recognition might even be prudent. "I suppose there's no harm in it," he conceded at last. "Go ahead and have your party. In fact," he went on, the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes now, "they both know our most carefully guarded secret, so there's no reason they shouldn't be allowed to see the rest of it. Let them see Core Control."

With a wicked grin, Will tossed the old professor a casual salute and went back inside. "Party tonight, guys," he informed the pair. "Meet me at the TE reception desk at shift-change."

"Will isn't throwing that party for me, is he?" Jeffrey asked as they headed back to their apartment. "Just for doing what a Voyager's supposed to do?"

Bogg snorted. "Will likes parties, and he'll throw one for the least little reason, or even none at all. But, to be honest, I think we do have something to celebrate this time."

"You mean because it was the Founder I got back on track?"

"Because we got you back safe."

Something in Bogg's voice caught his attention. "What do you mean?"

"They lost track of you for a while."

"When my Omni blanked out?"

"No; before that. Jeff, somebody switched Omnis on you, _and_ deleted your Locator file. When you first Omni'ed out, they couldn't find you. The only reason they finally did was because somebody in main Mission Control had an Omni show up on his monitor without a Locator code attached."

"So what happened to the Omni I was supposed to have?"

"They don't know. Professor Franklin says it completely vanished from the system just after you left. None of us were too concerned at first; we didn't know yet that you were actually in the time stream."

Jeffrey cast puzzled eyes at him. "Where _else_ would I be?"

"Well, since your final's been waived, I can tell you exactly what your dare was: You were supposed to be taking a crack at the final exam."

_"What?!"_ His jaw dropped open.

Grinning, Bogg chucked him under the chin, which had the completely intended result of shutting his mouth with a click of teeth. "You heard me. Y'see, I couldn't tell you before, because part of the exam is that you don't know you're in a holochamber; you think it's the real thing."

"Holochamber? You mean like the holodecks on those _Star Trek _episodes Will showed us?"

"Exactly like them. They're really pretty…_awesome."_ He had to fish for a moment to recall one of Jeffrey's superlatives, and then suddenly had a small taste of what his own approval must mean to the kid when Jeffrey grinned at him, pleased. "It's all so realistic, you can't tell it's a hologram," he added.

"You said I was _supposed to—"_

"Will checked the serial number of the Omni you actually had, after Mission Control told him what it was, and found you had a field Omni instead of a school Omni," Bogg interrupted, knowing what the boy was asking.

"So how come they didn't pull me back when they found out it was for real?"

"Because I told them not to."

"You mean you weren't worried when you found out all their plans had just gone out the window?"

"Sure I was worried; I was scared out of my wits. But remember what Professor Franklin told you about their 'pet event'?"

"She said it was one of the few times they knew ahead of time that history was about to get sidetracked."

"Yeah, and Will told Professor Garth that your assignment was probably related to that. Once I heard that, there was no way I could tell them to abort your mission; I had a very strong feeling it was one of those things you were supposed to do. Besides, I know what you can do; I've seen you in action. I figured you deserved a chance to show everybody else, too. And if it got out of control, we could still either yank you back or send help."

"They have any idea who switched Omnis on me?"

"Not the first hint. I imagine the Council Aides' investigators are going to be very busy after this."

The atmosphere in Mission Control was nothing short of celebratory when Tony arrived after school. Though the intense concentration the job required precluded conversation among the technicians, the overall mood was evident in their very bearing. It soured his own mood; the only possible reason for such high spirits among people who, by their own admission, had become jaded by their work, had to be that the kid had not only gotten through it in one piece, but had pulled off something truly spectacular in the process. He might have known.

Ray found the same general air at the reception desk. His supervisor, a man who generally presented a dour face to the world, was actually whistling today, and he cheerfully filled Ray in on the few details he knew, leaving the youth wickedly gleeful, but deeply worried at the same time. Tony would absolutely spit when he learned what Jeffrey had done, and it served him right. On the other hand, Ray was more certain than ever that Tony had a couple of screws loose. He'd stolen an Omni and made Ray delete Jeffrey's Locator code, resulting in what must have been a few tense moments when they'd lost track of him; there was no telling what else he might try between now and the time the Boggs returned to the field. His scheme had backfired this time, but the next one might not, and Ray had no intention of getting caught in the backlash. It was time to make a clean breast of it.

He was still trying to work up the nerve to do just that when the object of Tony's ire arrived with his adoptive father, looking for Professor Parker. The younger boy seemed to be genuinely interested in the life of a page as he conversed with Ray while they waited, with Phineas occasionally throwing in his own amiable two cents' worth. Then Professor Parker arrived with three others, and the quartet very ceremoniously blindfolded the two field workers before leading them through the inner door. The sounds of laughter drifted behind them until the door closed, cutting off the sound.

When Ray had seen the broadcast of the trial, the heartbreak had been clear on both their faces at the prospect of being separated. It was a feeling he knew too well, one with which every junior recruit was far too familiar. It was bad enough knowing you could never see your family again, but then there was the horrible guilt at knowing they were mourning your death while here you were, alive and well and having the time of your life. In that way, he realized for the first time, Jeff was no different from the rest of them. It hardened his resolve, and, bracing himself, he approached his supervisor's desk. "I think I know who switched the Omnis," he said in a rush.

"What's with the blindfolds?" Jeffrey wondered. "It's not like we'd recognize anything in here."

"It's Will's idea of fun," Bogg replied, grinning, though the kid couldn't see it. "Humor him, willya?"

They were stopped and spun around again, befuddling any sense of direction they might have had left after the first few times. Then there was a long elevator ride, and finally the arrival into what felt and sounded like a cavernous space. "Gentlemen, welcome to the Core," Will announced as their blindfolds were removed.

"Wow, it's _huge!"_ Jeffrey gasped as he gawked at the gargantuan tunnel that extended farther than the eye could see, its ceiling vanishing in the darkness above the suspended lights. The walls were lined with bank upon bank of—the term "supercomputer" didn't even come close to describing the behemoths; megaliths, or even the Easter Island statues, would have been little more than specks against the mammoth servers.

Will opened a door that was barely visible in the wall between two of them. "And this is the Control Room," he said as they went inside.

"You mean this," Bogg indicated the mainframe that took up most of the room, "controls all _that_ out there?"

"Calling this a control room is a bit of a misnomer, a holdover from PQL," Will explained. "Ziggy here is more of an interface now than a controller."

"This thing has a name?" Bogg asked skeptically.

"I am _not_ a 'thing,'" a sultry feminine voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, actually sounding more than a little insulted. "I am a fully sentient hybrid computer, capable of learning and of making decisions without human guidance."

"Ziggy?!" Jeffrey blurted, instantly recognizing the name. "You mean…"

Will chuckled at his amazed look. "That's why I brought you down here," he said. "This is basically the same computer you saw in 1995, upgraded and expanded many, many times since she was brought here. Ziggy, say hello to Jeffrey Jones Bogg."

"Hello, Jeffrey," came the voice again; this time both Jeff and Phineas could have sworn they heard a smile in it. "It has been a very long time. Dr. Parker, may I show him the slideshow?"

"Not yet, Zig. When it's time, I'll pull it up from someplace upstairs; I doubt the brass would appreciate us bringing him down here a second time."

Jeffrey thought he had heard mischief in the computer-generated voice this time and asked Will, "Does it…I mean, _she," _he corrected himself, feeling a little silly, "…feel emotions like us?"

"I'll let her tell you herself. Zig?"

"I can't say if my emotions are like yours, as I have no way of knowing how they feel to you, but I do experience them. And while we're on the subject," the hybrid computer went on, "I must thank you, Jeffrey. You have provided me with my first experience of the phenomenon humans call _'déjà vu.'"_

"I bet," Jeffrey grinned. Then, spotting the door through which he had watched Sam vanish, he asked, "Is the accelerator still in there?"

"No; that section houses the Leapgate now," Will told him. He pressed a button on his remote, and another door slid upward to reveal a tiny cubicle beyond, little more than a booth. "This is the old imaging chamber. It was how the Observer was able to contact the Founder across time; its technology is very similar to what makes the Locator system and the Omni's translator function work. I suspect the design for it came from _that."_ He indicated the featureless blue orb that was suspended from the ceiling, exactly as Jeffrey remembered seeing it at PQL.

"What _is_ that thing, anyway?" he wanted to know.

"It's really kind of hard to explain," Will told him. "I think it's kind of a cross between a processor and data storage, and I suspect even that misses the mark."

"You mean you don't know?" Bogg asked.

"That wasn't something the Founder built. They told me at the Project that it was found in the Mojave Desert; something called the Starbright Project was put together to analyze it. They were never able to figure it out, either, though the general consensus was that it was some sort of alien artifact.1 I understand the Founder insisted it was guiding him at times when he had problems in designing the whole setup. Al thought he was just feeling the effects of adrenaline from seeing his ideas take on physical reality, but now I think the Founder may have been right. Y'see, the Orb _was _an alien artifact. When the inventors of the Omni were trying to figure out a way to transmit power to it, they decided they needed a little outside help, so they sent a bunch of these things out; this one landed on Earth in the Founder's time."

"You mean you actually worked at Project Quantum Leap?" Jeffrey demanded excitedly. "You knew Dr. Beckett?"

"First of all, never say that name again, not even to me," Will said, his voice gentle to soften the rebuke. "Try not to even _think _his name anymore; that way you're less likely to slip up and say it to anyone else."

Bogg snorted. "This from the guy who says 'Sam' to keep from blaspheming," he teased.

"Did you have any idea before today that I was actually referring to a particular person, Mister Bat's Breath?" Will shot back with a grin, then went on, "To answer your question, Jeff, yes, I did work at the Project, but I never met the Founder. They'd lost track of him at least ten to twelve years before I came on board; someone else was the lead physicist after that. Then, when they reactivated the draft in 2013, they lost a bunch of their personnel in a single week, and I got introduced to Al shortly afterward…"

_Alamogordo, New Mexico; October 25, 2013_

_ Toilet paper—_used_ toilet paper—was worth more than his degree right now. It was a miracle he even had the thing. When he'd told his advisor the proposed topic of his dissertation, the man had nearly laughed him out of his office, until he'd mentioned the name of the documented genius who had published work on the same topic over twenty years earlier. Why was it, he'd wondered, that the moment you took time travel out of the realm of theory and started talking about actually doing it, people looked at you like you were nuts?_

_ After he'd been awarded his doctorate, he'd spent a year seeking funding for further research, a fruitless quest which had plastered his picture all over professional and lay publications alike, accompanied by scathing commentary labeling his single-minded persistence "foolish," "obsessive," "insane," and everything in between. The pursuit of the most recent lead had exhausted the last of his funds and left him stranded here, working in a diner to keep a roof over his head._

_ One last customer remained, having come in a mere fifteen minutes before closing time. Will Parker and Calvin van Tiel, the only other person on duty at this hour, were beginning final cleanup as the customer finished his meal; Will let him out when he was done, and returned to find Cal setting coffee and the last two pieces of cake on the counter. He perched on a stool and gazed unseeing at his "coffee-and." "How did I get here, Cal?" he asked wearily._

_ Cal snorted; in an attempt to inject a little levity into his co-worker's mood, he quipped, "If you don't know _that_ by now, _I'm_ sure as hell not going to explain it to you."_

_ It worked to some extent, bringing a short-lived, wan grin to Will's face. "Seriously, Cal," he went on then, "what am I doing here? I'm a quantum physicist, for chrissake, and look at me, flipping burgers for twelve bucks an hour. I'm stuck, Cal. Out of money, out of options, and out of hope."_

_ "It's not as bad as you think, Will."_

_ "Isn't it? I've been dreaming of making time travel a reality since I was in junior high, but it's been one brick wall after another ever since I got my doctorate."_

_ "I can't say I understand why," Cal said. "I mean, time travel's been all over the 'Net since they built that black-hole generator in Sweden—or was it Switzerland?—a few years ago."_

_ Will chuckled. "You're talking about the Large Hadron Collider near Geneva. First of all, it's not a 'black-hole generator;' that's pure fear-mongering. To put it simply—maybe _too _simply—it's just another particle accelerator. It happens to be the largest, most powerful one in the world, but it's still just a particle accelerator. Secondly, its purpose never had anything to do with time travel; that's media speculation. Happens every time physicists come up with something new or different, going all the way back to Einstein. No; its primary purpose was simply to prove the existence of a theoretical subatomic particle called a hadron—which it did, two years ago."_

_ "So you're saying nobody's actually studying the possibility of time travel?"_

_ "That's not what I'm saying at all. There's a lot of theoretical research going on, but the key word here is 'theoretical.' As long as you stay within that realm, nobody's got any problems with it. Start talking about actually trying it, though, and everybody runs screaming in the other direction, ever since Sam Beckett disappeared."_

_ "Yeah, I remember that. They had to shut down his last research project because there wasn't anybody else qualified to take it on. Did they ever find out what happened to him?"_

_ "Don't know; nothing more was ever reported by the media. But then, the Powers that Be aren't exactly tripping over themselves to tell us what his last project _was,_ either, except to say he was working for the government, so it was probably something classified."_

_ "So just how did you end up working here? With your credentials, you should've been able to score a position at any research facility in the world."_

_ "Not when your dissertation has a title like _Practical Time Travel,_ and you've been ridiculed in everything from the most prestigious professional periodicals all the way down to _Popular Science._ Nobody nibbled at the CV I posted online, so I decided to try the old-fashioned approach. Last couple of places I tried, I couldn't even get past the receptionist."_

_ "Well, I'll tell you something a friend of mine once said: The Man Upstairs doesn't give you a call that strong just to slam the door in your face. When it's time, opportunity won't just knock; it'll kick your damn' door in." He rose and collected the now-empty cups and plates. "So tell me, if you really could go back in time, what would you change?"_

_October 27, 2013_

_ Will's eyes tried to cross, and he had to look away from the customer who had just walked in. The man was wearing screaming green trousers and a purple paisley shirt, the pants held up by a pair of rainbow suspenders. "What's with that guy?" he murmured to Cal. "He colorblind or something? He makes psychedelic look tame."_

_ Cal grinned. "Nah; he just likes wild colors. I hear he drives his wife nuts." He went over. "'Morning, Al. Your usual?"_

_ "Yeah. Throw in a chunk of that lemon meringue pie while you're at it."_

_ "You got it." As he filled a cup, he asked, "Been a while; how's Beth?"_

_ "The woman's got the patience of a saint; how she's put up with me all these years, I'll never know," Al grinned._

_ "Work still keeping you out 'til all hours?"_

_ "And then some. The draft's been playing hob with my personnel roster. I just lost my third office manager in as many weeks, and…well, you wouldn't happen to know a quantum physicist or two, would you?"_

_ Cal grinned. "Actually, I may be able to help you out there. Seems there's this new-minted PhD who can't find funding for his own research, or even a job anywhere in his field, and had to quit looking when he ran out of money."_

_ "He any good?"_

_ "I couldn't tell you; I'm no scientist. I'm all 'pie are round, cornbread are square.'"_

_ Al laughed at the old joke. "So put me in touch with this guy, and I'll see what he's got."_

_ "You're in luck; he's here." He turned and looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Will, come talk to this guy before he _kicks your door in."

_ The slight emphasis did not go unnoticed; Will hurried to finish what he was doing. When he went over, Cal made the introductions and left, and Al invited him to sit. "Will Parker, huh? The _Practical Time Travel_ Will Parker?"_

_ He gave a mental sigh. Here it came again. "How I ever managed to defend that successfully, I'll never know. I guess it's because the basic foundation was Dr. Sam Beckett's work; the name of 'the next Einstein' is still pretty much gold in academic circles."_

_ Al raised his eyebrows. "Not much of his work in that area was ever released," he said cautiously._

_ "So he did more than he actually published?"_

_ "You could say that." He scrawled an e-mail address on a napkin. "Send me your CV and a copy of your dissertation; I'll have a look at 'em and get back with you."_

_ With a grin that threatened to split his face wide open, Will pocketed the napkin. "I'll do that as soon as I get home. Thank you, Admiral."_

_ "I may turn out to be the one thanking you," Al told him as they shook hands._

_November 5, 2013_

_ Will stretched luxuriously when he awakened, his mood the best it had been in months. Not only was it his day off, but it was also the day he should be hearing from Admiral Calavicci. He was in the middle of breakfast when the call came; an hour later, he was at the facility filling out forms and watching a video recording giving a brief history and overview of Project Quantum Leap. When he had jumped through the last hoop, he was escorted to the Admiral's office._

_ Once there, it was easy to see why he was still referred to by his military rank despite having been retired for several years now. The certificates and plaques on the wall bespoke an illustrious career that had even included a stint with the Apollo 8 command crew. It was still hard to look at the man, however; today's outfit was even more outlandish than the last one Will had seen him wearing._

_ The man shifted a fat cigar to one side of his mouth. "Good morning, Dr. Parker. I see you made it through inprocessing in one piece."_

_ "I'm still in shock," Will admitted. "It's hard to believe the government actually funded something like this."_

_ "Yeah, well, that's one headache I'm glad to be rid of. When we lost track of Sam, we had to hustle to get alternate funding in place before the committee found out he was gone and shut us down."_

_ "That's the part I don't understand," Will said. "I can understand not wanting to abandon Dr. Beckett, but what makes it so critical to keep this thing going? Most people would have given up years ago and written him off for dead."_

_ "For all anyone outside this project knows, he probably is," Al said, his voice tinged with sadness now. "We happen to know for a fact that he's not. We even have an idea where he is, in a general sort of way, but we can't bring him back; there's every indication he's not _supposed_ to come back."_

_ "How do you figure that?"_

_ "Bring your chair around and I'll show you." Angling his computer screen so Will could see it, Al opened a slide presentation. "It all started with this kid…"_

"Talk about coming full circle," Bogg remarked.

"I wonder if Dr….I mean, the Founder, ever guessed just what he made possible," Jeffrey added.

Will smiled, but said nothing.

1 This premise is borrowed from the fanfiction series, "The Starbright Project" at quantumleap (dash) .


	9. Chapter 8: Consequences

Chapter 8

Consequences

Garth gazed incredulously at the fourteen-year-old and the Aide who had brought him in. He'd called the Aides on his way back to his office, with instructions that he wanted to interview personally anyone who knew anything about the Omni-swap, but he certainly hadn't expected results this soon.

It was an incredible story the boy told, how Drake had conscripted his skills to delete his Locator file and Omni serial number, and, more recently, how Tony Ingram had used his own knowledge of that deed to blackmail him into finding and providing the passcode that would get him into TE, and then deleting Jeffrey's data. "Have those pictures been found yet?" he finally asked the Aide, referring to the ones Drake had used against the hapless Ray.

Adrian Vickers shook her head. "No, but Drake's diary confirms they exist, as well as the fact that he had them doctored."

"Did he say who did the work?"

"After a fashion. While he may have been pretty sure no one would find that diary, he wasn't taking any chances. People who helped him, either willingly or otherwise, are identified only by initials, and it's got to be some kind of code, because he identifies Mr. Swirski here as 'BT Two.'"

"That might stand for 'Black Tuesday'—the second one, not the one at the beginning of the Great Depression," Ray blurted without thinking, then muttered an apology for interrupting.

"No; go on," Garth encouraged. "You may be onto something."

"His code may have something to do with the situations some Voyagers get recruited from. I was taken on the second Black Tuesday in America's history."

Both adults' eyebrows shot up at that. "Definitely onto something there, sir," Vickers nodded. "He identified someone else as BDM; given that possibility, he could have been referring to Carl Murphy, who was snatched out of the Bataan Death March. We'll definitely be following up on that."

"Good," Garth nodded, glancing at the clock on the wall. "In the meantime, go and take Mr. Ingram into custody; he should still be at his duty station. Let me know when he's been secured; I'll keep Mr. Swirski here in case he manages to escape."

That drew a slightly sour grin from Vickers. Far from taking that as an insult to her abilities, she was all too aware of how slippery a kid that age could be.

When she had left, Garth turned his full attention to Ray. "I know your primary concern right now is what's going to happen to you. The answer to that is far from simple. What you did for Voyager Drake is actually very minor; if that were the only thing at issue, I could handle the entire matter myself, and you would face nothing more than the figurative slap on the wrist the incident's presence in your record would represent. However, your involvement in a security breach is a much more serious affair, which I am obliged to bring before the Council.

"Now I'm not talking about a trial. The fact that you acted against your will is a mitigating factor, and turning yourself in weighs heavily in your favor, as does your record to this point. The Council will most likely do nothing more than determine how I should handle the matter. I expect they'll leave it to my discretion; probably the worst they'll do is make recommendations—and, as Chief Elder, I have the authority to reject them if I think they're excessive, so you needn't worry about any of the overbearing popinjays." He made the term sound like the foulest of epithets, knowing that Ray was one of the few youngsters from the early twenty-first century who even knew what it meant. The boy proved him right when a snort of amusement escaped him before he sobered again.

"Professor, what's going to happen to Tony?" Ray asked.

His features darkening, the Chief Elder let out a long sigh. "I'm afraid your friend is in serious trouble. He's committed two very grave offenses, either one of which is enough to warrant trial before the full Council. And I'm afraid I can't even begin to speculate what his sentence might be; since he's too young for the usual banishment, if sentencing is needed, a great deal of research and debate will be required before a suitable punishment can be decided upon. In the meantime, there's something you need to do tomorrow morning, and if the Council passes your case back to me, we'll consider the matter closed."

~oOo~

Laughter drifted faintly through the door as Garth knocked; when Bogg opened it, the odors that teased his and Ray's noses were enough to make their mouths water, though both had just eaten breakfast.

"Good morning, Professor, Ray," the former pirate grinned as he swung the door wide. "Will, I hope you made enough for a small army; we have company, and at least one of them is a walking appetite," he called over his shoulder, with a sideways glance at Ray that made the youth nod heartily, having reached that stage in his growth where he seriously contemplated taking up residence in the kitchen.

Garth, chuckling at the boy's reaction, noted two small boxes in the living room, the kind Billeting used to store personal belongings for field workers. "Getting ready to leave, I see," he remarked.

"Yeah; we were planning to go after we finished the send-off breakfast Will insisted on cooking for us," Bogg replied as he led the way to the kitchen. "Ray, don't you have school today?"

"I…uh, I'm supposed to talk to you guys first."

Seeing the boy's discomfort, Will set his utensils down. "I'm gonna make myself scarce for a bit," he said.

"You don't have to," Ray told him. "You're gonna find out anyway; I guess it's better this way." He swallowed hard and turned toward Jeffrey. "It was my roommate that swapped out your Omni. He needed the passcode to get into TE so he could swipe one to replace it with." He licked his lips nervously. "I…I had to get it for him. I didn't want to," he added in a rush. "He was gonna get me in trouble if I didn't. But after I met you last night, I couldn't keep quiet anymore. Tony, my roommate…he's like a few cards short of a deck, y'know? He blindsided me; I never saw it comin'. I just…didn't know what to do." His voice cracked, and he started trembling. He'd held it together last night, but now, having to face them, the full enormity of it all hit him.

Bogg reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, kid," he soothed. "We don't bite. Honest." He put on such an exaggeratedly earnest expression, Ray couldn't help laughing. "That's better," Bogg grinned, then said, "You were blackmailed, right? Well, we know what that's like."

"It's worse than that, Bogg," Jeffrey cut in. "His best friend betrayed him."

"I know," Bogg nodded. "It'd be like Will suddenly turning around and telling Drake how scared I was my first weeks here."

That individual turned beet-red from the effort not to laugh as he thought of one particularly humorous incident that really wasn't suitable mealtime conversation.

Bogg went on, pretending not to notice his friend's amusement. "Now, if you and Professor Garth have time, why don't the two of you join us for breakfast, and you can tell us the whole story."

~o~

"Drake again; that figures," Jeffrey said when Ray had finished his tale. "Sounds like he knew exactly what he was getting into when he decided to take you on, Bogg."

"I knew about his diary; he had to have a contingency plan in case I brought it up at the trial." He went thoughtful for a long moment. "If I remember, a security violation has to be tried by the full Council, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," Garth confirmed. "And that's why you can't leave yet. One or both of you may be needed to testify."

"About what?" Bogg wanted to know. "We don't know anything you don't; in fact, you probably know more about it now than we do."

"Procedures, Phineas. The 'rigid adherence' people still hold most of the seats on the Council; if we want justice done, we have to do this precisely by the book."

"Maybe you should give Tony what he wants, but send him to a green zone where something awful happens," Jeffrey suggested. "Let him see how hard it can really be. Maybe something like the San Francisco Earthquake, or that big hurricane that hit Galveston in 1900."

"Or even when I was recruited," Ray put in. "If he's really my friend, seeing what I went through that day will really hit him where he lives."

"When were you recruited?" Bogg asked.

Ray told him, and he stared at the boy, horrified. The date was meaningless to Jeffrey; it was many years beyond his own time, and his history lessons with Alicia had not reached that point. His stomach sank at Bogg's reaction: If the older Voyager could identify a date correctly, then the event had to be something truly earth-shattering.

~oOo~

Around a long table at the front of the room, the twenty-four members of the Council had their gazes turned toward the foot of that table, where the prosecution and the defense were situated. The new prosecutor, so recently installed that she hadn't even fully moved into her office yet, was on her feet, reading the charges. Tony sat, uncharacteristically subdued, between his defense counsel and the Dean of Pages, his _ex officio_ guardian. By the way he grew progressively paler as each charge was read, it was clear, to Garth at least, that the boy hadn't previously realized the gravity of his offenses.

The old professor removed his _pince-nez_ and covered his eyes at a wave of dizziness; when he opened them once more, he was in a blue room a little larger than a Receiving Chamber, furnished with a single bed, a small table, and two chairs. Behind one of the two doors was a small bathroom, curiously missing a mirror over the sink. His suspicions aroused, he raised the spectacles still in his hand and tilted them until he could see his reflection. The Founder's face stared back at him from the lenses.

Outside the courtroom, several potential witnesses waited to be called to testify. Their soft conversations came to a sudden halt as the lights flickered.

Will reached for his phone, but before he could even get it out of his pocket, cries of consternation drifted through the courtroom door. Leaping to his feet, he darted toward it and burst in, to see everyone out of their seats—a few of the chairs had been knocked over backwards, bearing mute testimony to the haste with which they had been vacated. All eyes were riveted on the stranger seated at the head of the table, where Garth should have been. At least the man was a stranger to everyone else present; Will recognized him at once and immediately went into command mode. "Bailiff, guards, clear the court!" he barked in his best parade-ground voice. It was a tone that even the most pompous Councilors wouldn't dream of arguing with, and the room was rapidly emptied.

Sam Beckett stared at the tall man in a military uniform _sans_ insignia, until a symbol on the wall beyond caught his eyes. He'd seen it before, a peculiar glyph whose meaning was unknown to him. Then it suddenly seemed to take on a life of its own, twisting and writhing until it took on the shape of a stylized letter "V." "What the hell?!" he blurted.

Will followed his gaze and nodded. "It's okay, Dr. Beckett. You've—"

"You know who I am?"

"Hold on a minute." Going to the door, he motioned to Jeffrey, who came into the room and then stopped dead in his tracks.

Sam's gaze darted back and forth between the two, until his eyes settled on what looked like an oversized pocket watch on the man's belt, its lid adorned with the same letter that was on the wall.

An image flashed before his mind's eye, drawing his attention to the boy. He seemed to remember seeing him with the same watch-like device on his own belt, though it was absent now. _Swiss cheese for brains,_ he thought sourly.

A name. Jeffrey…Jeffrey Bogg? Or was it Jones? An impossible birth date—

Then something clicked, and memory returned in a rush, five years' worth in a whirling kaleidoscope of images that made him momentarily dizzy. Hands gripped his shoulders, and the man's voice cut through the sickening vertigo. "Easy there, sir; it'll pass in a minute."

"Where am I?"

"You're at Voyager Headquarters, and it's going to take a while before Al can find you."

Accepting for the moment that somehow this man knew everything about him and his project, he turned his gaze back to Jeffrey. "So it's a whole organization of time travelers," he said, nodding. "Is this the far future of my project?"

"More of a parallel development that borrowed a little from yours," Will told him. "Jeff, you've got enough background to give him the Cliff's Notes version, at least. If you need help explaining things, call Ben in. I have to go smooth some ruffled feathers. I had to take control of the situation, and the Council's got to be more than a little ticked off about it." With that, he exited the courtroom, leaving Sam alone with Jeffrey. With his equilibrium stabilized once more, he regarded the boy closely, startled to note that, although it had been five years since he had seen him, he was still only twelve. Did travelling through time as these Voyagers did somehow stop the aging process?

No, that wasn't it, he told himself. The third time he'd Leaped, for him it had been instantaneous: One moment he'd been a baseball player; the next, a lush of a literature professor having an affair with one of his students. Al, however, had told him that, in actuality, six weeks had elapsed between the two. Was the reverse also true? For him, five years had passed, but perhaps for Jeffrey it had only been a matter of days or weeks. "How long has it been since you last saw me?" he asked at last.

~o~

"It was the darnedest thing," one of the Aides who had come out of the courtroom was saying. "The lights went out for less than a second, and when they came back on, professor Garth was gone, and somebody I've never seen before was in his place."

Ben Alvarez was nodding as if this was not an unexpected occurrence. As he remembered the explanations that had followed Jeffrey's assignment, any misgivings Bogg had about the boy's summons into a courtroom that had just been evacuated, vanished, and he relaxed.

The Aide noticed. "You two know what happened, don't you?"

"I think so," Ben replied. "But I'm afraid we're not at liberty to discuss it."

~o~

Will could hear the agitated voices coming through the heavy oak doors to the Council chambers; one of the Aides stationed outside grinned wryly at his approach. "Maybe I should just tell them lunch is served," the man wisecracked.

"They all want to eat me alive, huh?" Will shot back.

"Better you than me," came the rejoinder as the Aide opened the door and announced him—or tried to. The cacophony continued unabated.

Will's presence went completely unnoticed for a full minute; when the heated argument showed no sign of letting up, he stuck two fingers into his mouth and let out an earsplittingly shrill whistle.

A few of the Councilors jumped in their seats at the sound, and the silence that followed was as deafening as the shouting that had preceded it. It lasted only a moment, however, before someone demanded, "Just who do you think you are?"

"The only one in this room who can explain what just happened, sir," Will answered quietly. It was the best way to deal with someone prone to shouting, or who was looking for a fight: Keep your voice quiet and your manner calm, and eventually he'll either calm down, or, in the latter case, go looking elsewhere.

"Please do," came from one of the junior members—Brindle, Will remembered her name, a member of his own graduating class to whom he had rarely paid any attention. She had been one of the older recruits in that class and was in her early forties now, one of those anal characters who always seemed to end up in high administrative places. She'd graduated as salutatorian of their class, with a political ambition that probably would have taken her very far in her home era, so it was no real surprise that she'd been chosen for the Council in her mid-thirties, one of the youngest ever to reach that office. The next youngest member of the Council, Voyager Kane, was a good ten to fifteen years her senior.

With a sigh, Will began his lecture; when he was done, they stared at him, flabbergasted. "Let him sit for the trial?!" came the inevitable demand. "He doesn't know the first thing about our procedures or the Code!"

"Actually, he does," Will pointed out. "Because of a complicated phenomenon called 'brainwave crossing' that occurs during a Leap, this man can access the host's memories to a certain extent, which seems to vary depending on the degree of need."

"But you won't tell us his name."

"Not now. I can't, and the one person who can authorize me to tell you, isn't here."

"You're sure he'll be back."

"Positive. But in the meantime, for his safety, and for the safety of the space-time continuum, you all have to accept our visitor as Professor Garth for the time being. I really can't give you much more than that without a crash course in quantum physics, and we don't have the time. If it makes you feel better, I can stay right by him during the trial to coach him."

"How is it that you can acknowledge who he really is?"

"Because, as you will find out if you read my dossier in the Archives, I worked on his project before I came here."

"But you weren't one of those 'Leapers.'"

"No. I was one of those who maintained the equipment that made it possible, as well as developing ways to improve the process." He shrugged. "It's what made TE such a natural choice for me."


	10. Chapter 9: Black Tuesday

**Chapter 9**  
><strong>Black Tuesday<strong>

_**Stallion's Gate, New Mexico; summer 2000**_

Al sighed as he came out of the Waiting Room. "Any luck with the nanosearch, Gooshie?"

The programmer shook his head. "The host's still not talking, huh?"

"Nah; claims he's not allowed to answer any questions."

A thoughtful look settled on Gooshie's features. "Didn't Dr. Beeks say he seemed awfully calm?"

"Yeah."

"Let me give it a try; I've got a hunch."

"Be my guest," Al growled disgustedly.

One of Dr. Verbena Beeks' functions as staff psychiatrist was to deal with the various hosts who suddenly found themselves in the Waiting Room. Over the years, she had handled various reactions, from shrieking hysteria, to open hostility that could turn violent at the slightest wrong word or motion. The one thing for which her experiences at PQL had never prepared her, though, was their current guest's utter calm. His smile when she'd introduced herself had seemed like that of one who knew a secret, and his reaction to the sight of his reflection had fallen short of his actually saying _I thought so—_but not by much. She'd come out of the interview willing to bet her next month's pay that he knew exactly where he was and how he had gotten there.

The stranger wearing Sam's appearance turned as the door opened. "Ah, Dr. Gushmann, I presume."

"I didn't think that kid came here on his own," Gooshie said. "My guess is, there's a whole league of time travelers, and you were monitoring him. And that means you know where Dr. Beckett is. We need that information; without it, we can't contact him."

Not-Sam shook his head. "Even if I gave you his exact coordinates, you wouldn't be able to communicate with him; your equipment doesn't have the capacity. I'm sorry, but I can't explain any further. You work with sworn secrets yourself, so I'm sure you understand."

Gooshie sighed. "Al's gonna have a cow," he groaned as he left the room.

"You mind telling me how you got him to tell you even that much?" Al demanded when Gooshie relayed the information to him.

"Remember that kid I told you about, the one that showed up here just before Sam Leaped?"

"Yeah, the one Sam thought was a time traveler. He had a gizmo that interfered with the accelerator. What about him?"

"I always figured there had to be others; who's going to send a twelve-year-old through time without _some_ kind of supervision? Well, turns out I was right. The host is one of them, and apparently they were monitoring the kid, because he recognized me. He even called me by name."

"And that's why he could talk to you, because you already know about his group," Al realized. "I wonder where they're based, that our equipment can't reach Sam there."

~oOo~

Sam looked up when the door opened to readmit the GI. "Okay, that's out of the way," the man breathed. "Sorry for the brush-off before, Dr. Beckett. My name's Will Parker; I'm a physicist like yourself. In fact, I worked for your project for a while, close to twenty years after your first Leap."

"Was I back home by then?"

"I can't answer that, because I'm not allowed to tell you anything about your own future."

"I understand."

"I managed to get the Council to adjourn until tomorrow to give you time to get up to speed—"

"Even though they know damn well I'm not…whoever I displaced?"

"His name's Nicholas Garth, professor at the Voyager Academy and Chief Elder of our governing body. Now I managed to get the rest of the Council to agree to accept you in his position for the duration of your stay, and they've granted a twenty-four-hour recess for orientation purposes. I suggest we relocate to your host's office; it's a lot more comfortable, and the materials we need are readily to hand."

Sam grinned as Will pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Looks like cell phones have gotten a _lot_ smaller since I last saw one," he remarked.

When they walked into the office, four more people were waiting for them, and Sam nearly balked. "Why do I get the feeling I've just walked into my own inquisition?" he asked.

"Because, in a way, you have, but relax; this one's not adversarial," came from an older man who could have passed for an older version of Han Solo, his dark hair liberally frosted with gray. "I'm Ben Alvarez, director of TE—Temporal Engineering," he introduced himself. "This is Sharon Thayer, our Code Violations Prosecutor, the equivalent of a DA where you come from. Next to her is Victor Cummings, the defense attorney, and the guy who looks like he just walked off the set of an old pirate movie is Phineas Bogg, field Voyager and Jeff's dad."

Sam couldn't help grinning at the last man introduced. "For once I can honestly tell you I've heard a lot about you," he said to him as he shook hands all around.

Bogg grinned back. "You'll have to tell me later what my kid's saying about me behind my back," he teased.

"I can't do that," he shot back in mock indignation. "A Councilor cannot divulge what is told to him in confidence."

Though his voice didn't alter, the cadence of his statement was so close to Professor Garth's that Bogg was momentarily taken aback. "How'd you do that?" he demanded.

"Too complicated to explain," Will interrupted. "Trust me, Dr. Beckett; he's no scientist. Phin, let's just say it's part and parcel of the process that brought him here. I'll try to explain it later when we have more time."

"Okay, so if you two," Sam indicated Sharon and Victor, "are lawyers, then my first impression was right, and it was a trial I Leaped into the middle of?"

"Yes," Victor said. "The defendant is a juvenile, accused of security violations, theft, destruction of technical equipment, and blackmail, among other things."

Ben passed him a folder. "The boy's name is Tony Ingram; you'll find all his background information in this file. And this," he handed him a second file, "is the record on another boy involved in the case, Ray Swirski. It includes the statement he gave to Professor Garth—to you, as it were—when he turned himself in. I understand such physical cues can aid you in accessing the host's memories."

Sam nodded as he quickly scanned the files. "I get the feeling that, according to your procedures, Jeff wasn't actually supposed to end up in my Control Room."

"We didn't plan it that way, no," Will confirmed. "See, there are two types of Omnis. There are the field Omnis, which you've already seen." He touched the one on his belt. "Then there are school Omnis. Those have slightly different interior workings; we can program them to send an individual to a specific time and place. There's more to it, but I'm not sure…"

"A simulator," Sam said. "You started talking about 'school Omnis,' and it just popped into my head."

"Yeah. He was never supposed to end up in the field at all, but do a simulated assignment alone as a sort of initiation."

After a moment of obvious deep concentration, Sam said, "You call it the 'dare,'" he said. "I seem to have a recollection of a rather amusing conversation with you about that."

Will grinned. "You recall correctly," he said. "For the most part, we Voyagers can be a pretty playful bunch."

"But you do have your curmudgeons."

"Don't we ever. Essentially, it breaks down to a difference of opinion in how much latitude can be allowed with regard to bending rules. The majority tend to believe that rules are rules, period, while the rest believe that, especially in fieldwork, a wide range of allowances have to be made. It all kind of came to a head when a corrupt Voyager started manipulating the ones who advocated rigid adherence."

Sam whistled as he "recalled" those events, as well. "And he's still at large in the time stream?"

"Afraid so," Will confirmed. "And that situation is what's behind any attempts at sidelining you may run into."

"I can see I'm going to have a lot on my hands, then. Now I'm getting the impression that this case that's being tried is directly related to how Jeffrey ended up at PQL."

~oOo~

Tony expected the trial to resume with the Deputy Chief in the first chair, in which case his prospects had just taken a turn for the worse. Councilor Fenton Morse was firmly in what was still referred to as "Drake's camp;" without Professor Garth to provide balance, the Council was likely to sentence him to the maximum penalty allowed for his age.

Contrary to what was rumored among the pages, no one was ever sent back where he had come from, his lawyer had explained, unless it was found that he'd been picked up by mistake. If they decided on the maximum, he would be consigned to an orphanage somewhere in a time other than his own, a stable green zone that his presence wouldn't alter.

With those thoughts preying on his mind, he didn't know whether to be relieved or even more concerned when the stranger, now wearing Council robes, took Professor Garth's place at the head of the table.

The verdict was not in question. With Ray's statement in evidence, Cummings had told him, his only real option was to admit his guilt and try for a lighter sentence. He couldn't help cringing when the lawyer recommended a period of counseling. He was thoroughly convinced it was a lot of baloney…until they got to the hearing.

In view of the seriousness of the charges, the prosecution requested, and was granted, a thorough examination of the charges. It was a process identical to a trial in form, if not in purpose. Since pages did not carry Omnis, there was no recording to reference, so the hearing more closely resembled something familiar to Tony, as witnesses were questioned by both sides. Dr. Frank Giordano was currently being questioned by the prosecution.

"Dr. Giordano," Thayer began, "when was the last time you saw the defendant?"

"About a week ago," Giordano replied.

"And what is your assessment of him?"

"He's a deeply troubled young man who hasn't yet fully adjusted to his new situation. He's only been here for a year, so that's not out of line. However, he exhibits hostility toward several of his peers who are successfully adjusting; the more successful they are, the more aggressive toward them he is. He's been responsible for several cruel pranks played on them, some of them dangerous; he's been sent to me several times between scheduled visits because of them."

"Would you say you've seen him more often than is usual for a recruit of his age?"

"Yes."

"You say some of the pranks he's played in the past have been dangerous. Would you say he is capable of the things he is now accused of?"

"Absolutely. Jeffrey Bogg has had a spectacular transition and some extremely good fortune; what the defendant is accused of doing is proportional to that, on the scale of things he's done in the past."  
>"Thank you, Doctor; no further questions."<p>

Cummings rose and walked toward the Omni memory reader; after putting his own Omni into the receptacle, he approached the witness. "Dr. Giordano, I'd like you to recall the way the defendant looked as the charges were being read." Obligingly, the memory reader began replaying the opening moments of the trial; there on the screen for all to see was the increasing shock on Tony's face. "In your expert opinion, what do the defendant's reactions mean?"

"I would say he's either a consummate actor or didn't realize the gravity of his crimes until that moment—or at least, none of this seemed real to him until then."

"Do you see remorse in his reactions?"

After a moment's thought, Giordano said, "That's a good bit harder to determine. He's certainly afraid of what may happen to him, which in and of itself can lead to remorse."

Tony couldn't call it baloney anymore; too much of what Giordano had just said had been uncannily accurate.

The long wait while the Council deliberated on his sentence was arguably more wearing on Tony's nerves than the hearing itself had been. Finally, however, they filed back into the room and took their seats. Professor Parker was not with the stranger this time; he resumed his place in Professor Garth's chair, and the look he fixed on Tony was anything but reassuring. "Mr. Ingram, these are all grave offenses, and this court did briefly entertain the notion of dismissing you altogether, but it has been decided to give you a second chance. There is a price, however. You are being put back into the Orientation program on a probationary basis for a period of one year. You will continue your studies there, and you will see your counselor every week without fail, instead of the bimonthly schedule you have been on. During your probation, you will be relieved of your page duties, and you will remain in the Orientation section. Your friends may visit you there, but you are not to leave. At the end of the year, your counselor will submit an evaluation. You may be reinstated, your probation may be extended, or you may be dismissed, depending on his findings. If at any time you violate the terms of this probation, you will be immediately dismissed.

"Second, and finally—There was a saying in the late twentieth century: Be careful what you wish for; you may get it. You are being sent into the field to complete an assignment. Professor Franklin will prepare you, in addition to your regular studies.

"This court is adjourned."

_**Arlington, Virginia; September 11, 2001**_

Tony instantly recognized the five-sided building down the road from where he landed. It hadn't existed yet in his own time, but he'd seen enough pictures of it since coming to VHQ. Most of the people walking in the area were in uniform, and he realized that he must have been set down within the confines of the military installation on which the Pentagon was built. The green light chimed at him when he opened his Omni, and he wondered what kind of joke they were playing on him. Everybody knew a green light meant history was proceeding as it should; why had they sent him here? Then he recognized the date, and a sick feeling rose in his stomach. This was one of those dates that remained burned in every American's memory from the time he first studied history, like October 12, 1492; July 4, 1776; or December 7, 1941. Like the second and third dates, it heralded the beginning of a war.

The screaming of jet engines caught his attention; along with the rest of the pedestrians, he whirled toward it. A plane larger than any he had ever seen, or even imagined, was flying far too low and still descending. He could only watch helplessly as it slammed into one of those five walls, exploding on impact with a force that shook the ground. The tremendous heat from the ensuing fire reached him even where he stood, and he knew there was no way rescuers would be able to reach any survivors trapped in that inferno.

He suddenly understood the full meaning of that saying the stranger had quoted. Swallowing bile, he Omni'ed out.

_**New York City**_

He didn't need to consult his Omni to determine his geographic location; downtown Manhattan had a certain ambiance that made it impossible to mistake, even without the sight of the Brooklyn Bridge's unique architecture in the distance. Once more he faced a set of buildings that had not existed in his time; the gigantic towers rising on the other side of the street told him he was in the late twentieth century or early—_very_ early—twenty-first. Had this been the first stop on his assignment, he might have ignored the sound of jet engines; Ray had once told him it was a common occurrence with two major airports located only a thirty-minute drive away, barring traffic. But after what he had just seen, he looked up, and froze to see another large aircraft heading straight for one of those towers. He ducked behind a parked car, hunkered down with his arms folded protectively over his head; the vehicle shielded him from the worst of the falling debris when the collision occurred.

Then he heard a familiar voice cry out. It was a cry he'd sometimes heard in the middle of the night when his roommate awoke from a nightmare he steadfastly refused to discuss. His eyes found the source of the cry just as Ray and another boy who could have been his identical twin vanished in a downpour of shattered glass, chunks of concrete and steel, and other debris, some of it in flames. _"Ray!"_ he cried and ran toward the pair. Barely had he reached them, however, when they both vanished in a flash of blue-white light. So _that_ was how Ray had been recruited. But who was the other kid?

The scene was made even more surreal by the fact that it next started raining paper—although perhaps "raining" wasn't the right word, as the stuff floated down in a manner more akin to snow. He looked up, momentarily entranced by the resemblance to grotesque snowflakes, until the dark-red flames and jet-black smoke registered. Rooted to the spot in shock, he noted people leaning out of windows, seeking breathable air in a vain attempt to prolong their lives. Moments later, the first jumper plummeted to the ground, though it seemed to Tony as if the woman fell in slow motion as he wondered what kind of hell it must be up there to have driven her to forsake any hope in such a fall. She landed on the roof of a parked car; the impact produced a report that sounded like a gunshot. He turned away and began to heave. The hands that gently gripped his shoulders seemed to be touching someone else; the voice speaking meaningless words, to come from somewhere far away. In a daze, he allowed himself to be led away as a second report heralded the end of another poor slob. The sound was followed in short order by another.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the rear bumper of an ambulance. He was facing the inferno, now three blocks away, and found some cause for joy at the sight of the steady stream of people pouring out the doors of both towers, firemen and police helping a few of them, even as more of their fellows rushed past the mass exodus, in the opposite direction. The small comfort afforded him by the sight of so many survivors died when another plane crashed into the second tower, and the nightmare began again, even as the first continued to play out.

Another period of time vanished into a shock-induced haze; it was a deep rumbling sound that brought him out of it this time, and he looked up as the first tower seemed to shudder and then slowly, almost majestically, began to collapse in on itself. A seemingly solid cloud of dust and debris appeared to boil outward from the base, then started to roil up the street toward him. People began to run northward, though not in the panic-stricken mass that movies liked to depict. Someone grabbed him and hustled him into a nearby store, then toward the back, away from the windows. It broke his stunned state, and he carefully separated himself from the others huddled in the tiny apartment behind the store. After carefully making sure no one was touching him, he triggered his Omni once more.

_**Midair over Shanksville, Pennsylvania**_

It was whisper-quiet where next he landed; he was surprised no one noticed the sound of his arrival. But then, why would anyone pay any attention to someone falling on his butt in the tail end of a plane when there was something far more interesting going on up front? It was too far for him to see, but he thought he heard the sounds of a fight. Most of the passengers, he realized, were out of their seats and moving forward; those remaining were either talking on phones just like the ones at VHQ, or obviously praying. _Oh, no,_ he groaned to himself. _Not Flight Ninety-Three!_ If he remembered correctly, from this point less than a minute remained. The sound of a thin metal door slamming open told him the passengers had gained the cockpit; seconds later, with a sickening lurch, the aircraft pitched forward into a sharp descent. Tony stumbled, and the Omni slipped from his grasp; he dove after it as it slid down the aisle.

He would never know how close to the ground the airliner was when he Omni'ed out, nor would he learn, until years later, that he had never been in any of those places at all. When he vanished, so did the surrounding scene, dissolving to reveal only a small, empty room, its walls, ceiling, and floor crosshatched with image-generator strips.

_**Voyager Headquarters; Training Control Center**_

It was Jeffrey's hand that reached out to help him up when he landed. Unshed tears glimmered in the younger boy's eyes. _Could you Omni out and let the Titanic sink?_ Billy Schaeffer's words rang in Tony's head. _Or keep your mouth shut about Pearl Harbor if you got there a day early?_

He hadn't had time to act on what he knew; he'd landed just in time to witness each attack, with the gut-wrenching sight of the green light telling him that it was _right._

He was glad the light had been green in that last time zone; he didn't know if he could have stirred the passengers to attack the hijackers. It didn't matter that they would have died whether or not they had fought; he only knew that, had he had to spur them on, he would have felt responsible for their deaths.

He looked at the kid whose hand was still gripping his arm supportively and saw complete understanding in the wide dark eyes. In that instant, he finally knew what Billy had meant when he'd said that anybody Jeffrey's age who could do the hard stuff deserved the title. "Thanks…_Voyager,"_ he said.

Just then, something popped loudly, and all the lights went out. In the dead silence that ensued, Professor Parker's voice sounded in the darkness, "And that, folks, was the mother of all quantum effects."

Long moments later, the lights came back on, and there was a collective gasp as they saw Professor Garth standing next to the stranger, looking a little dazed, but none the worse for wear.

Immediately understanding the significance of what had just happened, Will signaled Dr. Giordano to take Tony elsewhere.

Quickly recovering, Garth held out a hand once the pair were out of the room. "Welcome to Voyager Headquarters, Dr. Beckett."

Accepting the hand of the man whose form he'd been wearing for the past few days—maybe the Voyagers hadn't seen it, but he'd been painfully aware of it every time he'd looked in a mirror—Sam breathed incredulously, "I'm still here. How am I still here?"

Will looked up from his remote, a thoroughly perplexed look on his face. "We're picking up some kind of signal," he announced, his tone one of confusion. "It's weak, almost as if it's trying to scan multiple timelines at once."

"That's probably Al," Sam murmured.

"Bring it in," Garth instructed.

_**Project Quantum Leap**_

"Anything yet, Gooshie?"

"I'm not sure."

"Whaddaya mean, you're not sure? Either you've got something, or you don't!"

"Ziggy says she's reading Sam, but impossibly far away, like not even on this planet. And as for when, she says it's like he's in all times at once, and in none of them; she can't lock in."

"That does it," Al snarled. "I'm getting some answers from that nozzle if I have to resort to…to…_Chinese water torture!"_ He stormed through the door to the Waiting Room; a second later, a frustrated howl issued from behind that door, then Al emerged, his face pale. "He's gone!"

"I've got a lock!" Gooshie whooped at the same time, and Al bolted for the imaging chamber.

_**Voyager Headquarters **_

Sam whirled suddenly to stare at blank space. "Al! What took you so long?" he demanded.

Will rapidly turned his back to Sam; he did something with his remote, and the hologram suddenly became visible and audible to all of them.

"…got a problem, Sam," the observer was saying. "The host is missing."

"Yeah; he's right here," Sam replied, directing Al's gaze to Professor Garth.

Al stared for a moment, dismay written across his face. "But Sam, without the host _here,_ in our Waiting Room, you can't Leap!"

Sam was silent for a long moment, obviously deep in thought. Then, his voice a little unsteady, he said, "I…I don't think I'm supposed to."

"What are you saying?" Al asked very quietly.

"Right after you left me at Al's Place, the bartender came outside and said something about a difficult new assignment.(1) I think this is it."

"Sam, are you telling me you're going PCS(2) on me?"

Wordlessly, Sam nodded.

Al reached a trembling hand toward his best friend, then swore when it passed through him.

Will was punching keys furiously. "Hang on, guys; I think I can fix that," he said.

Al looked at the—GI, he supposed; all he could see was the back of his uniform—and the device he was holding. It was different from the one he used, which looked more like a multicolored collection of dice randomly glued together, but he still recognized the earlier version, the one that looked like a calculator, and his jaw dropped open. "Sonuvabitch! Sam, _that's a handlink!" _Forgetting himself, he grabbed at Sam's arm with one hand and pointed, almost accusingly, with the other.

Then, feeling actual physical contact for the first time in several years, both men froze and stared at each other.

"What did he just do? I can touch you!" Al blurted; then he and Sam fell into an embrace that employed none of the usual backslapping. "Oh, my God, I can touch you." Al's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"Al, promise me something."

"Anything, Sam; you know that."

"Keep the Project going. No matter what it takes. Go private—hell, go underground if you have to, but _keep it going."_

The observer's eyes strayed to Will's handlink once more, and he nodded. "I think I understand."

"Make it quick, guys; I'm losing the signal," Will warned them.

"Al, you're the best friend I've ever had. And tell Donna…" The holographic image vanished, and Sam sagged visibly. "…I'll always love her," he finished, wiping at his eyes.

He wasn't the only one.

Clearing his throat, Will called Receiving.

"Receiving; Mitchell."

"This is Parker in TCC. Got a new recruit for you."

There was a pause, presumably while Dave Mitchell checked his status boards. "I'm not showing anybody in any of the chambers."

"That's because he didn't come in through the Leapgate—at least, not through _our_ Leapgate."

This drew a derisive snort. "Then whose Leapgate did he come through?" came the sarcastic question. "The Founder's?"

"Mitch, he _is_ the Founder."

The director's voice was desert-dry. _"Right,"_ he drawled. "Parker, if this is another one of your gags, it isn't funny."

"No joke, man. Remember the briefing Ben gave us all a few weeks ago? Professor Garth is on his way over there with him right now. Stan Massey'll be there shortly to take him off your hands."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes<strong>

1 _Quantum Leap: _"Mirror, Mirror."

2 "Permanent change of station," a military expression for a transfer.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_**Project Quantum Leap**_

Al's surroundings flickered, and he was back in the Imaging Chamber. "Goodbye, Sam," he whispered to the empty chamber, then exited back into the Control Room, wiping his eyes as he went.

"What happened?" Gooshie asked.

"We've lost Sam for good this time," Al told him.

"You mean he's—"

"I didn't say that," Al cut him off. "No; God or fate or time or…whatever's been controlling Sam's Leaps has given him a new set of orders. Permanent ones.

"Give me a hand here; I need to set up a presentation."

~oOo~

Dr. Donna Eleese, Sam's wife and deputy director of Project Quantum Leap, stared at Al, shock and grief written across her face. "Please tell me you're kidding me, that this is some kind of sick joke," she forced the words past the constriction in her throat.

"I wish it was," Al said quietly.

"I hope he doesn't remember me."

"Oh, he remembers, all right. He started to give me a message for you just before we lost the signal. I didn't hear the whole thing, but from the tone of his voice, I'm pretty sure he was going to say he'll always love you."

She blinked back tears. "Is there any chance at all he may Leap again?"

"We don't know, Donna. _He_ doesn't even know for certain, but he said he had a feeling this was the last one."

"Given the fact that the host is gone, I'd call that a logical conclusion. So where do we go from here?"

"Well, he made me promise to keep the Project going, no matter what. And I saw some things in the Imaging Chamber that make it pretty clear why that's so important."

"If Ziggy can't pin down Sam's location, how did you contact him?"

"She says it was like some kind of beacon grabbed her signal and pulled it in."

"Another time-travel project?"

"Yeah. Sam and Gooshie discovered its existence just before the first Leap."

"The boy that showed up in the Control Room."

"Yeah. Turns out the kid was part of a whole league of time travelers, and Sam thinks that league is a future outgrowth of this Project."

Donna's eyes went wide. "Do you have anything to back that up?"

"Yeah; let me pull up a slide show Gooshie and I just put together. The images were pulled from Ziggy's records of what went on in the Control Room and the Imaging Chamber." He came around the desk until he was standing alongside Donna, then reached forward and manipulated the mouse.

"This is the kid." The first image was that of an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy; Gooshie was holding him firmly by one arm. "Gooshie said it looked like he fell through the ceiling," Al went on. "When Sam finally got him to fully identify himself, Ziggy found this." The screen now showed a newspaper clipping with the headline, **BOY VANISHES; POSSIBLE KIDNAPPER SOUGHT.**Below the headline was a picture of the same boy. "You're looking at Jeffrey Bogg, born Jeffrey Joneson October 3, 1970; orphaned in the summer of 1981, then disappeared September 12, 1982. He told us he was subsequently adopted."

"And he was still twelve years old when he came into the Control Room in 1995?"

"That's why Sam concluded he was a time traveler, and the kid confirmed his guess." He brought up the next image, in which Jeffrey was looking up at Sam, who was holding what looked like a large pocket-watch. "Check out the symbol on the cover. Now look at this." Two pictures appeared side by side. The one on the left showed what was clearly a child's bedroom, with an upset-looking tan Rottweiler lying on the floor under a shattered window, surrounded by broken glass and shredded paper, most likely from the book he was holding in his mouth. Next to it was a close-up of the book, its leather cover well-battered even without the impressions from the dog's teeth. "Police records say his guardian did not recognize this as one of the kid's books. Records also say that the book was not written in English, or even in the Latin alphabet. Linguists couldn't identify the alphabet, never mind the language. But you'll notice that the symbol on this book is exactly the same as the one on the device. What these pictures can't show you is, every time that device was opened, the accelerator readings went absolutely berserk—and so did the device. When Sam realized that the kid was a time traveler, he ordered Gooshie to fire up the accelerator."

"Is there any possibility that the device itself caused enough interference to foul up the accelerator?" Donna asked.

"No. As long as it was closed, it had no effect on the accelerator; Sam made sure to tell the kid not to open it until he'd Leaped. Once the Leap was complete, Gooshie went into the chamber to see to the host; when he came out, the kid was gone.

"Now during his last Leap—and let me tell you, that was one _strange _Leap—Sam said he was told something about a 'difficult new assignment.' Some time after that, the last host turned up in the waiting room. Dr. Beeks told us he seemed to know where he was, and absolutely refused to tell her who he was. But Gooshie had always suspected the kid wouldn't have been travelling through time without some kind of supervision, so he figured the host was from whatever group had sent him to us. We kind of stepped outside of protocol when I let him go talk to the host himself, and it turned out he was right: The host knew who he was. Shortly after that, Ziggy finally located Sam." He brought up the next slide, and the screen showed a tall man whose clothes looked like something out of an old pirate movie. Donna stared at the exceptionally handsome features, framed by curly blond hair and highlighted by the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen. "Now if I'd met this man first, I might never have given Sam a second look," she commented.

Al snorted as he zoomed in on the device on the man's belt. It was identical to the one Sam had held in an earlier image. The next picture was another shot of the pirate, this one a wider view, showing a boy standing next to him: Jeffrey. Then came one of

Sam, in his Fermi suit, standing next to an older man wearing a robe that could have been either academic or judicial. "That guy next to Sam was the host; Sam told me that when I told him he'd disappeared from the Waiting Room. How did he get there? That's the mystery. Ziggy didn't detect anything like the interference caused by that gizmo, so we can only assume he Leaped out."

"And if we don't have the host, Sam can't Leap," Donna nodded.

"Now just before we lost contact, Sam asked me to promise to keep the Project going. That's when I saw this." He brought up a picture showing the back of a man clad in desert camos, and pointed to what the man was holding; Donna recognized the earlier version of the handlink. "And that right there is why I intend to keep that promise _at all costs."_

Donna looked thoughtful. "There's no way we can use this to get the Committee to continue our funding."

"Damn straight...'scuse the language," Al apologized; Donna waved it off. "And without it, the minute they find out Sam's gone, they'll shut us down. I figure the longer it takes them to find out, the longer we'll have to arrange alternate sources of funding. I have a couple of contacts in the Interplanetary Foundation; they're working to privatize space exploration, and I'm hoping they'll be willing to expand their horizons to include us.

"Now when the Committee does revoke our funding, they'll take possession of this facility and everything in it, so we'll have to arrange to relocate, duplicating all our equipment in the process. I figure we've got enough spare parts on the shelf to at least get a start on doing that."

"And the recovery program?"

Al shook his head. "The programmers completed it shortly before we got hold of Sam this last time; Gooshie took a chance on using it while we were in contact, but it was a no-go. I thought it might be because Sam's exchanged mesons and neurons with so many different hosts, it can't lock onto him anymore, but Ziggy says that's been factored into the program, and it draws on her records of the progressive changes every time we've contacted Sam. Now Sam tells me that, according to what he found out in his Leap to 1953, he's actually controlling his own Leaping; if that's true, then there's some reason he's not allowing himself to come home, though Verbeena can't figure out what it might be. She's already given me a list of questions to ask him the next time I contact him..._if_ I contact him," he corrected himself very softly. "Meantime, the programmers want to test the recovery program on another Leaper, so I'm looking for volunteers. If I can't get anybody in-house, we'll have to try to recruit somebody from outside the Project—which we'll have to do anyway to keep the Project active. I've already told Personnel to draw up a screening protocol."

"Well, it's pretty clear you've got this well thought out. Have you got anybody scouting locations yet?"

"Not yet; I figured I'd get the alternate funding in place first, so we have some ballpark idea of how much we can afford to spend. With a nimbus that can be seen for miles even with the accelerator underground, it's going to have to be pretty remote."

_**Voyager Headquarters**_

As Garth led Sam out of the Training Control Center, Bogg shook off his own shock and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "C'mon, kid. Let's get out of the way and let these guys get back to work."

"Whose idea was my assignment, anyway?" Jeffrey asked as they headed back toward their quarters.

"I don't know; Will won't tell me—except to say that it wasn't a malicious dare; it was sheer curiosity. You're getting a bit of a reputation of your own around here, kid," he added with a grin.

They had almost reached their apartment when running footsteps came up an adjoining corridor; a moment later, Ray Swirski rounded the corner and skidded to a stop when he saw them. "I just saw Professor Garth," he panted. "He said to tell you to meet him over at Receiving. Who was that with him?"

"A new recruit," Bogg answered.

"Tony said after he got back, all the lights went out for a minute, and when they came back on, there was this stranger standing there, but he didn't get to find out anything about him, because they hustled him out of there so fast he didn't even really see what the guy looked like. Is that the new recruit? How'd he get in TCC?"

"We can't tell you," Jeffrey said. "Professor Garth said not to tell anybody." He looked at Bogg. "Can I at least tell him his name?"

"I don't see why not; everybody's going to know that much eventually."

"His name's Sam Beckett."

Ray's jaw dropped. "Sam Beckett? _The_ Sam Beckett?"

"You know about him?"

"He was a real famous physicist back home, Nobel prize and everything. _Time Magazine_ even called him the next Einstein. The guy's a real genius; he's got something like six or seven doctorates."

"Even I know how long it takes to get one of those," Bogg said, "and he doesn't look old enough to have that many."

"That's because he finished each course in only half the time than it normally takes; sometimes even less. He was fifteen when he started his undergraduate studies and had his first doctorate by the time he was nineteen. He disappeared in...I think it was in 2000—Holy cow! I bet he disappeared because he's _here!"_

Deciding to change the subject before Ray ventured into classified territory, Bogg asked, "Who was that kid with you in New York?"

His features becoming guarded, Ray asked, "What do you mean?"

"They took you up on your suggestion and sent Tony to the day you were recruited. We saw the whole thing, and there was a kid with you who looked just like you."

Sagging, he answered, "That was my twin brother."

"Identical?" Jeffrey asked.

"Yeah. We were both pretty badly hurt; they rushed us to Medical from the Blue Room we landed in and right into surgery." He choked back tears. "Randy died on the table; they told me later that, at the moment it happened, they almost lost me, too."

Jeffrey put a hand on the other boy's shoulder. "I don't know for sure, because I'm an only child, but I think losing a brother's gotta be even worse than losing your parents. I bet you still have nightmares, too."

Ray nodded. "My counselor tells me they'll eventually stop, but it's been a year now."

Jeffrey shrugged. "It's been two years since my parents died, and I still have bad dreams once in a while. Not as often as I used to, though. So it really does get better."

"I hope so. I better get back and tell Professor Garth I gave you his message." With that, he was gone.

~oOo~

"Ah, good," Garth said when the pair came into Receiving. "Don't leave yet; there's a bit of a celebration I'd like you two to stay for. You see, since your trial, Phineas, we've been busy recovering the thirty Voyagers who were exiled during Drake's tenure. The last few were brought back earlier this week, and tomorrow night we're going to be having a welcoming dinner for them. I'd like you two to attend, since I'm sure they'd like to meet the Voyagers responsible for clearing them."

"But I didn't do anything," Jeffrey said. "It was Bogg who told Susan about the diary."

"Perhaps not, but you _are_ a team," Garth smiled at him. "You had your stake in the trial—and I have a good idea, now, just how difficult a time that was for you; now it's time for you to share in the glory, as well." He gazed at Jeffrey as another thought occurred to him. By the late twentieth century, the concept of one's "good name" had been all but completely lost, and he wondered... "Jeffrey, I'm curious about something. How well do you understand just what it is Phineas has given you?"

A shy grin spread across his face. "Enough to hope I can live up to it," he said, and Garth's pleased smile told him it was the right answer.

**_Finis_**


End file.
